


Dirty Mouth

by badwolfbadwolf



Series: Teen Woof Tumblr Fics [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anniversary, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, Clubbing, Coming In Pants, Curly Fries, Dirty Talk, Droit du Seigneur, Felching, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Incest, Incubus Stiles, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Consensual, POV Second Person, Paralysis, Presents, Public Sex, Sex Toys, Snowballing, Threesome - F/M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Voyeurism, Watersports, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:32:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 28,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of tumblr ficlets.  Latest is cheerleader!Stiles wears lingerie, and fluffy Sterek anniversary gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Handcuffed Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek are handcuffed together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ayrtonwilbury. My spirit animal.

Stiles tugs at the handcuff clasped tightly around his left wrist, the metal cool and unrelenting. Just as it had been two seconds ago when he had tried the exact same thing. The movement tugs at Derek’s arm, attached on the other end, leather sleeve falling over the metal. Derek yanks his arm backwards and Stiles lurches sideways with a grunt, throwing his hand outward to brace himself against the cage of the squad car of which they are currently occupying the back seat.

“Geez,” Stiles grunts as he flops backwards into the bench seat and pulls against their linked arms. Derek remains angry and unmoving despite Stiles’ repeated tugs. Stiles turns partially to shoot Derek an annoyed look and immediately withers beneath the fierce ire written all over the sharp features. Even his hair looks angry, the normal spikes flattened due to their impromptu tuck-and-roll maneuvering that had landed them in this mess. Stiles immediately switches tactics, lips quirking up in a quick nervous smile.

“Look, I’m sorry Derek. I already said it was a dumb idea to break into the grocery store while the clerk was still there. Even if you really needed all that venison blood for that curse or whatever. Admittedly, hiding in the freezer section was also a dumb idea.”

“You think?” Derek is staring straight forward now, mouth set in an angry line.

“And once this new guy gets ahold of my dad, he’ll totally get us out of here. But then I’ll, you know, have to deal with him. But that will be better?” Stiles lets his voice tip upward on the last word, making it into a question.

They stare at the criss-cross of the cage, Derek’s body wound tightly and Stiles sprawling with one foot up. They tug back and forth on the handcuffs until Derek finally jerks Stiles’ hand against his leg and twists to hold Stiles’ wrist firmly against his thigh.

“Do you ever just shut up, Stiles?”

Stiles opens and closes his mouth, unsure how to answer. “Yes?” He wiggles his fingers against Derek’s leg, causing the hand to tighten on his wrist.

“Stiles.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

Stiles stops the twitching and his fingers are heavy against Derek’s leg, the backs of his knuckles instantly aware of Derek’s every movement. They sit stiffly and listen to the dull chatter over the radio. Derek loosens his hold on Stiles’ wrist as the skin becomes sweaty between them.

Abruptly the car door opens and Derek is yanked outward with a rough tug, Stiles dragging across the seat along with him. They bounce against each other and Stiles springs away like a rubber band, rubbing at his shoulder where it has collided into the hard point of Derek’s elbow.

The officer looks them over like they are small children, and Stiles can’t really argue with the assessment.

“You’re lucky your dad is the Sheriff, kid,” he says as he fishes through his keychain for the handcuff keys.

Derek’s lip quirks up at the word kid and Stiles kind of wants to punch him. The instant the cuffs are loosened they jerk their hands away, the metal clattering down on the ground between them in their hurry.

“I’m still under orders to escort you home.”

Derek looks at the man incredulously, arms crossing over his chest in a defensive posture. “I don’t think so.” Then he adds, “Him, though. He needs an escort.”

Stiles mutters something angrily under his breath but doesn’t pipe up. The last thing he wants is more of a lecture from his dad about his general mouthiness that he can’t seem to help, particularly in regards to authority figures. And particularly when he had just broken the law. Again.

“Both of you. Sheriff said so specifically.” Neither budge at all. “Don’t make me get the cuffs out again.” The threat has both of them shuffling forward, Stiles yanking open the door angrily and Derek giving him a quick shove to have him falling on the seat face first with an awkward yelp.

They hunker down in the back with hands shoved in pockets the whole way home. On the turn into the driveway Derek tilts his head sideways to stare at Stiles with his measured green gaze. Stiles stares right back, fed up. This close he can see the rough edges of the dark scruff that run messily along Derek’s throat. Stiles narrows his eyes, irritated that he even noticed.

Derek’s voice is so quiet that Stiles thinks he imagined it. “Maybe the handcuffs were a good idea. Just for you.”

Stiles continues to just stare, swallowing thickly, mind reeling. What? No, really, _what_?

Derek’s features shift into something more predatory, a bit pleased to have gotten the upper hand on Stiles for once. “I think you need them, Stiles. You need something to pin you down.” His voice is a purr now, fingers curling onto his thighs as if he’s thinking of reaching forward but is restraining himself.

“I think you need…” Stiles begins the retort of an eight-year-old but trails off, feeling utterly ridiculous and bare in front of Derek’s stark words and bright eyes. In the back of a fucking squad car. While Officer Whoever waits for him to get out. And who will tell his dad all of this. He squirms against the seat, scrambling for words. “I gotta… house. Bye.”

Stiles fumbles with the handle and pours himself out of the car, bumping awkwardly into the door and shutting it with a surprising amount of force. He holds onto the handle, staring in disbelief at Derek’s smug looking grin through the window before remembering to finally let go. Mercifully the officer doesn’t get out and just waves him to the door. Mercifully Stiles’ dad isn’t home.

Stiles comes harder than he ever has in his life with his hand wrapped too tight and pants barely tugged down, and thoughts of Derek’s voice hot and dirty in his ear.


	2. Coming in Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek makes Stiles come in his jeans in public.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For thatworldinverted's prompt.

Of course Derek pins him against the wall outside the diner. Of course he runs his dark stubble over Stiles’ cheeks and nips at his neck firmly. Of course he grinds his hips forward until Stiles moans from the pressure, losing their little game of who would break first. Stiles always breaks first.

Derek draws away with a wicked grin, the shadows highlighting his sharp features, the slant of his nose, the glint of his teeth. Stiles feels himself turn to melted butter against the brick wall, only able to move when Derek wraps a large hand completely around his bony wrist and tugs upward. The walk to the door is uncomfortable and Stiles bites his lip with each step, knowing what’s coming next.

The leather of the booth is sweaty along Stiles’ skin as he shifts against it, body wound tightly. Derek looks at him predatorily, hand sliding beneath the table and over Stiles’ dark jeans, feeling the little shakes of need as Stiles sweats and presses backward into the cushion.

“What do you want, baby?” Derek says, voice low and quiet. “The others will be here soon.”

Stiles turns to smile blandly at the waitress who suddenly appears, eyes flicking down to Derek’s hand obviously in his lap. “We need a minute,” he says, voice slightly higher than usual.

She leaves and Derek’s hand skims upward, over the buldge of his dick, pressing as Stiles squirms against him.

“Can you come for me? Here?” Derek asks. He uses his other hand to stir the straw in his water absently, surveying the empty diner. No one is watching.

Stiles nods and shudders. “Yes.”


	3. Incubus Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Incubus!Stiles preys on Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For tardisandwings's prompt.

Derek watched with undisguised curiosity as Stiles jumped fluidly out from his Jeep and onto the gravel with a soft crunch. The uncharacteristic grace was unusual, and Derek tilted his head with the obvious unasked question.

Something was decidedly… different about Stiles. His plaid shirt fit him a little more sleekly, his eyes a little deeper shade of chocolate, the movement of his limbs a little smoother than their normal flutter as he walked closer. And the way he grinned at Derek, confident and inviting. Well fuck, if that wasn’t hot.

“What are you doing here, Stiles? It’s late,” Derek finally said as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to let the kid in just yet.

Stiles didn’t answer, just quirked his brow upward and gave a small grin, his features half-hidden in the soft shadows cast by the porch. But the glint in his eyes was unmistakably mischievous. Derek swallowed and shifted, sensing something was wrong. And then Stiles was so close, breathing against his neck, hands hot along his biceps and slim hips fitted tight against his own.

The sense of wrongness increased, along with a slick heat that burned in Derek’s gut as he felt Stiles’ pointed tongue lick against his jaw. The fine stubble bristled with the long swipe and his toes curled as Stiles breathed warm air against his ear.

“Want you.”

“Stiles,” Derek began, lifting his hands to push away the eager body but instead grasping onto the sleeves of his t-shirt and holding tightly. The muscles beneath his fingertips felt oddly heated, a faint quivering of energy as Stiles dipped forward to lick at his earlobe.

“You want me, too.”

Derek closed his eyes but couldn’t deny the way his cock was now throbbing against Stiles’ sharp hipbone. He breathed in deeply and that was the moment he knew he was fucked. Stiles smelled like sex and sweat and warm cotton, the bones of his body sharp, so sharp clutched in Derek’s tight fingers.

Their lips finally met and it was warm and wet, teeth and tongue, desperate and harsh. A quick push and Derek was flat against the wall with Stiles’ hand up his shirt, palming over the muscles of his abdomen and sliding backwards with no pretense, straight into his waistband.

“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek grunted out, pulling back forcefully, feeling his body rocking against the searching fingertips. There was a rich darkness in Stiles’ eyes as they were turned almost pure black and Derek blinked in surprise, feeling his flight or fight instincts begin to kick in. Then it was gone, only shadows on the youthful face and bright brown eyes staring up at him with a mixture of hunger and painful innocence that nearly broke him.

“Let me, Derek,” Stiles said with simple need, more confident than Derek had ever heard him. It still felt wrong, so wrong, but Derek’s skin was burning every place Stiles touched with blunt nails and soft lips. The fingers delved deeper, the hand tightly trapped in Derek’s jeans, brushing against his ass and pushing inside dry, just with a fingertip. Stiles played with each tender nerve ending until Derek was leaking wetly and grunting softly, letting himself be pressed down to the floor with his pants shoved around his ankles. And Jesus, wasn’t that surprising and mind-melting.

Fingers bit harshly into Derek’s hips and drew him to his knees, and when Stiles licked against him with a wriggling tongue, Derek bit his lip to keep from moaning out too loudly. This was definitely not how he’d thought the first time would go. Not like he’d thought about that. Often. Alone in bed, eyes closed and fist wrapped tight. When Stiles pushed inside it burned, thick and unrelentless. There were wet gasps against his back as Stiles bent forward and wrapped his arms around Derek’s muscles. He brought their bodies close together, the thrusts becoming little ruts that were maddeningly insufficient.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Stiles groaned into Derek’s nape, fingers sliding everywhere underneath Derek’s prone underside. They pinched at his nipple and scraped down his stomach before grasping onto his cock, fist pumping ardently.

“Stiles,” Derek said as he threw his head back at one particularly deep thrust and stroke combination. “What’s gotten into you?”

“You like it?”

Derek swallowed as the hand twisted against him, his cock leaking profusely now. Stiles was fucking him on the wood floor of his foyer, in the dark, pants around his ankles. Now was not the time to be coy. “Yes,” he said.

Stiles manhandled him to the floor and the dust and sweat was thick in Derek’s nose. He brought his arms forward to rest his forehead against them, body stretched and pinned. Derek craned his neck backwards to look at Stiles, the sight making him catch his breath. The dark hair was completely matted down, eyes pressed tight, long neck arched and pink tongue pressed against the upper lip. He looked so young, hard and soft at the same time, the strength and sex rolling off of him. He seemed to sense Derek’s eyes and opened his own eyes slowly, revealing the dark color Derek had glimpsed previously when out on the porch. Now that he was closer he could see that it wasn’t just the light; Stiles’ eyes were in fact the exact color of onyx, and just as brilliantly glinting.

He felt his body go rigid, his initial fear returning, mixed with a dizzying lust, claws beginning to unsheath as Stiles held him down with bruising strength. A bite to the shoulder and Derek was coming hard into Stiles’ tight grip, his brain narrowing down into animal thoughts of lust and love and skin and Stiles and wrong. The hard thrusts continued and Derek remained frighteningly boneless beneath the onslaught. Stiles grew harsher with his movements, nails scraping against his shoulders and neck, fingers twisting into the short hair at the Derek’s nape. He pulled hard and then was gasping and spurting, murmuring expletives and mouthing at Derek’s neck as he fucked through his orgasm.

When he was finished he drew out slowly and flopped next to the larger man with a thunk. They listened to the sounds of the house settling and their skin cooling, neither willing to say anything. Derek scrubbed a hand over his face and finally rolled over, relieved to see the frozen concern over Stiles’ face and the dark brown eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“Uhhh. Fuck, Derek. I’m sorry.”

Derek remained silent, lost in thought. “This was a mistake.” The look on Stiles’ face instantly made him regret his words. Derek stared at him, remembering the determined lust and blown-out pupils, completely at odds with the kicked-puppy look Stiles was currently sporting. Derek pulled himself to standing and yanked up his jeans, zipping them quickly and looking down at Stiles. He was still laid out on the floor, clothes only partially removed, face blushing red.

“Right. Yes. Absolutely,” Stiles said quickly, the flail back in his arms as he attempted to sit up and instead caught his hand on the tail of his shirt. He lay back and closed his eyes before popping upward. They blinked at each other for a good minute before Stiles beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door behind him without another word. Derek watched as the Jeep’s tires squealed in their haste as Stiles haphazardly spun the wheel.

The night was quiet again and Derek sat on the porch once more, body aching dully and skin singing. Those black eyes. The unnatural grace. Stiles’ ridiculously attractive confidence. Derek breathed out solidly and stood. Something was wrong with Stiles. Very wrong. He’d need to keep a close eye on him. And also, not let him fuck him again. At least not until he knew what the hell was going on, anyway.


	4. Snowballing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek sucks the come out of Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, this is dirty.

Derek lies heavily on top of Stiles, forearms resting on the sheets and the slick weight of stomach on rounded ass growing uncomfortably sticky. His breath pants in harsh rasps against Stiles’ shoulder, gradually slowing to a soft grunt. Stiles squirms beneath him, trapped, Derek’s breath tickling against him.

Mmmmnnng, Stiles gets out into the pillow, eyes still shut and hair plastered to his forehead. Derek pushes the cold tip of his nose forward against the jut of Stiles’ shoulder-blades, delighting at the twitch of flushed skin and the way his angular body tries to shake him off unsuccessfully. They stay that way until Stiles’ huffing becomes more vocalized, mixed with an impatient roll of his spine and a shuffling of limbs.

Derek growls from the back of his throat and presses down with his hips to pin down the squirming body firmly against the sheets. “Stop moving, Stiles.”

Stiles stills beneath him, closes his eyes, counts to ten. When he reopens them all he can see is Derek’s thick fingers resting on the bed and all he can feel is Derek around him, on top of him, inside of him. The larger man eases his weight off, pulling out slowly, letting Stiles adjust. He watches with keen eyes in the semi-dark, looking at the tug of skin stretched around his cock gorgeously. Stiles has his eyes pressed tight again, mouth open and damp, limbs limp and sprawled. Derek takes his time, sliding through the sweat, watching as the ridge of his cock eases out, a trail of white come seeping outward and into the soft hair there.

“I love it when you’re so fucked out that you can’t speak.”

“I bet you do,” Stiles murmurs weakly, though apparently he still has enough energy to arch one eyebrow up.

Derek slides backward, drawing up on his haunches, looking down at Stiles’ prone form. The moonlight highlights all the sharp angles, the cut of his shoulder-blades, the knobs of his spine, the dimples in his back and the wetness gleaming from between his legs. Derek leans forward on impulse and draws his fingers through the come, curling along the base of Stiles’ balls and pushing against the reddened hole that is soaking wet with come and lubricant.

Stiles draws in a shuddering breath and pushes his face into the pillow, spreading his legs further and letting Derek take what he wants.

“You’re so good for me,” Derek praises against Stiles’ thighs, his beard rubbing roughly against the tender skin, raising red marks.

Stiles mutters incoherently as Derek’s finger hooks inside, sliding through the slippery mess and drawing it outward. He presses forward to lap at his finger, drawing the mixture onto his tongue, rolling it languidly along the surface, tasting it. Stiles makes a drawn out sob as Derek sucks, finger delving, the sensation wild and electric and overwhelming. Then he’s drawing away and sliding his palms down Stiles’ thighs, pulling him by the knees and turning him over.

Stiles looks up at him, eyes glazed and heavy, limbs loose. Derek climbs up his body, fitting his thigh between Stiles’ legs, rubbing against the come-soaked skin, wrapping his arms tightly around the sharp shoulders. He leans forward and presses his lips to Stiles’, opening them slowly, letting Stiles lick against the corners of his mouth before getting a taste.

Derek can feel the exact moment when Stiles realizes. His body tenses slightly, limbs drawn tight in Derek’s arms as Derek pushes his tongue forward slowly. Stiles hesitates before opening to him, letting the warm mess slide between them. Derek grips Stiles’ neck loosely, holding him still until Stiles rolls it on his tongue before swallowing it all down. Derek pulls away and licks along Stiles’ pink lips, chasing the taste.

“Jesus, you’re dirty,” Stiles pants against the rough stubble, hands still trembling.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees easily, tugging Stiles down and tucking him against his chest.

“Maybe next time I can be the one to…”

“No.”

Stiles pokes the soft part between the ribs, still a bit amazed that Derek lets him close enough to do that. “Fine,” he says with false irritation and Stiles can see the faintest trace of a smile on Derek’s lips. Stiles closes his eyes and listens to the even breathing beneath him, swallowing and feeling Derek’s taste linger on his lips.


	5. You/Derek/Stiles in a club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You/Derek/Stiles in a club, then threesome sexy times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> File this under things I wish were real. Note: the "you" is a female reader.

The air is thick and hanging over your skin heavily, the bass of the music reverberating deep in your chest. Your tank top is sticking to your back with sweat and you pull on the edges, hitching it upward to flash a stripe of slicked skin just above the waist of your low-slung jeans.

Hands reach from behind and curl around your hips, pulling you backwards. You feel the grind of a slim body hot against you, the fingertips hooking into the belt loops. _Stiles_.

Soft lips graze against your nape and you close your eyes briefly. The music gets louder behind your eyelids and you can feel the buzz of the alcohol intensify. The warmth spirals through you and you feel fucking fantastic and heart-poundingly alive. You wind your hand upward and slide against Stiles’ neck, pulling him down so his breath is warm on your cheek and your lips are close together.

He kisses you lazily, slowly, tongue just licking at the corner of your mouth. The angle isn’t quite right but you tighten your fingers in his hair and let him lick. His hips start moving in dirty little grinds against your ass and you push back into him, feeling him half-hard already. The music is thrumming through your bones and you let your body roll into his, feeling the press and grind of lean muscle down the entire length of your back. Gyrating bodies sway around you and you tilt your head backward to lean on Stiles’ shoulder, smiling at his flushed face and sweat-damped hair that is plastered to his forehead. It makes him look young, his face vibrant.

”Where’s Derek?” you ask and Stiles creases his brow and leans down right next to your mouth so he can hear you. “Where’s Derek?” you repeat, louder. Even though he’s an inch from your lips you have to yell to be heard over the din.

Stiles moves to your ear, his lips brushing wetly against the skin. “Watching.” He lets his tongue glide along the shell before pulling back and tipping his head to the left, indicating where Derek is seated on a stool looking gorgeous and unapproachable at the same time. Derek takes a slow pull from his beer and sets it back on the bar, eyes unmoving from your gyrations. His finger is running idly up the glass neck of the bottle and you watch the way his arm bends, the muscles flexing smoothly and the sleeve of his dark t-shirt tightening with the movement.

You can feel Stiles smiling against your skin before his hands skate downward, just over the tops of your thighs, fingers brushing along your jeans so lightly they tickle you. Then he’s pulling away and dancing with a silly grin and wiggle to his hips. How that boy can look both adorable and exceedingly sexy is beyond you. You spend some time looking at the tip of his nose and then you realize you’re staring, but it’s okay because Stiles is smiling at you and waggling his eyebrows. You draw closer and grab him by the drawstrings of his hoodie, making a fake show of wrapping them around your hands and tugging him close. He lets you, lets you pull your bodies until you are flush, let’s you feel his hard dick pressed into your stomach. He lets you yank on the strings until you’re ridiculously close again, breathing in the hot damp air, lips hovering in that blissful space right before the kiss.

This time his lips meet yours hard, tongue insistent, fingers spread wide and pressing against you tightly. You whine slightly when one hand slides up underneath your tank top and glides over the sweat to hold you close. He pushes one leg in between yours and he grinds up against your hip in time with the pounding beat. You can feel how hard he is with each flex of his hips, his kiss dirty and wet, fingernails turning inward to scrape lightly along your spine. He feels like sex beneath your fingers, fluid and hot and needy.

You break apart only when you feel a large hand sliding over your shoulder, squeezing slightly. Derek is there, still in the sea of grinding bodies, expression hungry. He’s not much of a dancer but Stiles slides over anyways, wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and latches his teeth beneath Derek’s ear. The lithe body grinds and sways and Derek submits without much pretense, letting his hips be pushed with each of Stiles’ pulsing movements. You watch Derek lean down to nip at Stiles, turned on beyond belief at the way the white teeth bite into the plush lower lip. They look so good together, shadow and light, stubble and smoothness, tempered lust and wild abandon.

You lean up along Stiles’ back, straining up on your tiptoes to kiss at his neck. Your hands wind around the two bodies, finding a resting place on Derek’s hips. 

“Ready to leave?” you ask into Stiles’ shoulder blade. Though it’s loud, Derek’s werewolf-sharp senses hear you and he nods, effectively breaking his and Stiles’ kiss. He pries off Stiles’ clinging limbs, silencing his protests with another tongue-filled kiss before grabbing you both by the hand and tugging you towards the exit.

The ride home has you and Stiles in the backseat, his hand down the front of your pants while Derek drives like a maniac. Stiles is in two fingers, swallowing your whines as you push into his hand, your bodies jostling together with each sharp turn. The alcohol and buzz of adrenaline make the trip quick, and soon Derek is opening the car door and hauling Stiles off of you. You are irritated until Derek has you pressed up against the side of the car, replacing Stiles’ fingers with his own. He pushes up into you, grinding the base of his palm into your clit hard. You groan and throw your head back against the car, watching his wrist disappear into your jeans, watching his muscles flex and bunch as he makes little thrusting movements.

He pulls out and you feel wetness sliding between your thighs and up your stomach as he lets his fingers drag along your skin. He keeps his hips pushed forward, pinning you to the car door, sliding one hand over to cup the back of your neck and the other, wet and glistening, to rub along your lips. Stiles is close suddenly, grabbing Derek’s fingers and sucking them inside his mouth, tasting you. It’s hot, really fucking hot, watching those lips curve around Derek’s skin, watching the way Stiles’ tongue flicks out against the fingertips like he’s sucking Derek off. Derek stiffens against you, his whole body smooth as silk along your skin.

When he speaks again, his voice is throaty, scratchy, needy. “Let’s go inside.” 

You both don’t hesitate to follow.

 

The bed is soft beneath your hands and you slide backwards to pull your legs up in front of you. You plant your feet and pick your hips up, shimmying out of your jeans. Derek kneels above you and pushes your hands away, reaching to tug the pants the rest of the way down. The lacy edge of your boyshorts catches on his fingertips and they drag downward until they are low on your hips. He pulls the pants off one leg at a time before settling down on his haunches and looking at you with beautifully calm eyes. The green is soft in the dim light of the loft, Derek’s face serious, the scruff darkening his features. He leans down and mouths against your knee, sliding one large hand from upward your ankle before pushing sideways firmly. Your legs spread open and you tilt your hips upward, wanting to be touched. He bites along your skin, marking it with red nips while the fingers of his right hand run idly down your thigh.

The bed dips and then Stiles is there, crowding his body next to you and leaning down to kiss you hard. His eager tongue distracts you as Derek hooks his fingers into your panties and tugs, sliding them off the rest of the way. His rough hands trail down from the inside of your knee and all the way down your inner thigh, making you shudder as he grows closer and closer inward. He stops just short, teasing with his nails, breathing hot against your thigh as your skin twitches and you mewl into Stiles’ mouth. 

Stiles is pulling up on your shirt, quick hands reaching back to unclasp your bra. He slides around your ribs and runs his fingers along the underside of your breast before moving upward to pinch a nipple. The buck of your hips has Derek’s lips brushing against you and you push your feet further into the bed for more purchase. His tongue darts outward, rough against your clit, one finger circling down lightly. He pushes in his finger, just to the first knuckle, and lets you squirm on it, wanting so much more.

“What do you want?” Stiles says into your lips. He’s rolling your nipple in his fingertips, and shifts to suck on your neck, biting down hard.

You push your hips down against the bed, unsure. Derek’s finger is still, his lips unmoving on you. “More,” you whine, and Stiles’ lips are back on yours, sucking your noises into his mouth, laving against your tongue.

“Do you want Derek to fuck you? Or me?”

The thought makes your brain short-circuit. Derek resumes his messy lapping and your mind is blank. All you can feel is his finger inside of you, his tongue warm and heavy, Stiles’ lips and words brushing over your skin.

“Yes,” you say, not sure which question you are answering.

“Yes, both?” Stiles’ eyebrow is high, his look devious.

“You first.” 

“Good plan, babe.” He grins saucily, pulling your shirt off and over your head before reattaching his lips to your neck. 

Derek pulls his head up now, his lips shiny and pink. He looks ridiculously gorgeous like that, all wet and flushed, eyes half-lidded. He glances over at Stiles appraisingly, and his lips curve into a smirk.

“Too many clothes, Stiles,” Derek says, not even bothering to make a full sentence. He leans over your knees to tug Stiles closer to his body.

You push yourself to sitting and start to undress Stiles from the top down while Derek pulls off Stiles’ white socks before unzipping his fly. His hand dips quickly into Stiles’ pants and boxers, grasping his cock and giving a quick tug that has Stiles open-mouthed and panting. He pulls the pants down just enough off Stiles’ hips to let his cock leap forward against the flat stomach before bending down to lick along the shaft.

“Naked, naked is good,” Stiles chirps as he struggles with his jeans. “You too.” He makes a vague gesture with his hands towards Derek before flopping down to wrestle his octopus legs out of the pants. He’s naked as the day is long, lean muscle and white skin, with a grinning face to match his enthusiastic strip show. He helps Derek pull off his clothes quickly, running fingers over the thick muscles with eager appreciation. Derek lets Stiles stroke for a moment before shifting his attention over to your prone form.

“Roll over. On your knees,” Derek tells you, and your stomach tightens in anticipation. Stiles gives you a cheeky grin before helping you roll onto your belly and hitching his hands beneath your hips. He pulls you upward so your ass is in the air, legs spread, chest against the sheets. The air is cool on you and you leap as Stiles’ tongue is suddenly against you.

“You’re so wet,” Stiles says into your folds before wriggling his tongue inward. You can feel his nose all the way against you, can feel Derek moving on the bed behind you. You turn your head to try and get a good look, but the angle is difficult and your neck is hurting from the position. You can see Derek pressing up against Stiles, his jaw clamping down on the thin shoulder, his hands coming to wrap possessively around the thin neck.

The two of them shift closer to you, so close that you can feel Stiles’ hard cock brushing against your thigh and Derek’s right hand brushing against the inside of your knee.

“How many fingers can you take, baby?” Derek is whispering into Stiles’ ear. “How many to get you ready for my cock?”

One finger slides in, crooks. Stiles keens. 

“Three,” Stiles answers, breathless. He shoves into you hard, propelled forward by Derek’s fingers. It fills you up wonderfully and you spread your legs to accommodate his hips. He begins to fuck into you slowly, an upward twist of his hips as he bottoms out each time. With each pull outward you know he’s shoving himself on Derek’s thick fingers, caught between the two of you. Derek’s freehand travels up Stiles’ body, pinching a rosy pink nipple and traveling backward along the curve of your hip. You feel Stiles stiffen above you and inside you, and you know Derek must be adding another finger. You twist around in his grip and Stiles lets you, helps your legs untangle as you roll around until you’re on your back and Stiles is still thick inside of you.

Stiles leans down, fitting his body into yours, his forearms resting beside your head. You wrap both your arms and legs around him, feeling the slip-slide of skin as the sweat melts between you. He bends his head and his lips find yours, soft and gentle before lapping at your mouth eagerly. He stills and rests his forehead against yours, grinning breathlessly as Derek shifts behind the two of you.

You feel a hand on your inner thigh, between Stiles’ spread legs, dipping inward until Derek’s fingers are brushing against your ass. You tighten in surprise, making Stiles gurgle. The fingers leave quickly though, just a tease, and then you can feel Derek moving close, lining up, pushing forward and into Stiles.

The two of you still as it happens and you watch Stiles’ face as it tenses and his eyebrows wrinkle adorably. He huffs along your cheek and closes his eyes and you take a finger and run a path along the constellation of moles on his cheek and neck.

“You doing okay, baby?” Derek asks, and the concern on his face is so plain it could be written in words. Stiles nods weakly. “Push back for me. Let me in.”

You feel Stiles shifting above you, and then there’s a push forward that moves the three of you together and a breathy ‘oh’ that escapes from Stiles’ lips. He tilts his hips backward, moving his cock out of you slightly, and then a thrust from Derek has him sliding back inward with some force.

“Yeah, good,” Stiles grunts out, before reclaiming your lips. Derek finds a rhythm quickly, and it’s lazy and hard at the same time, with Stiles pinballing between the two of your bodies. Stiles’ hand slides between his stomach and yours, searching for your clit and brushing it with fleeting touches. The angle is difficult, the build-up maddeningly slow.

“Come on, Der. Give it to me.”

Derek grunts like an animal, as if speech capabilities have left him. You feel him draw up on his knees more, grasp Stiles’ hips and begin to straight-out pound. Stiles slides into you wetly each time, rocking your hips and making the bed creak beneath the weight of the three of you. Derek’s hand comes down to knock away Stiles and the pad of his thumb presses against you firmly, making you moan out both of their names. Stiles licks at your lips, sucks the cries out of you. Derek grasps your leg and bends it back, leaning forward and biting down hard on Stiles’ shoulder. The angle is tight, so very tight, and Stiles stutters above you. You feel him tensing up, trembling, pulsing and he floods warmly into you as he fucks you through his orgasm. 

Derek’s making clipped moans as well, more subdued than Stiles, though. His hand has left your leg and is now wrapped around Stiles’ hips with a white-knuckled grip. He yanks Stiles off of you, throws him down face first onto the mattress and just pounds with no finesse. You shift away, watching his cock disappear inside Stiles’ quivering body as you feel Stiles’ come dripping out between your legs and onto the sheets.

It’s hot, fuck it’s really hot, and you watch every line of Derek shiver and clench as he rockets through what looks like a painfully sharp orgasm while Stiles wails beneath him. Derek’s claws have come out and he’s running them along Stiles’ sides, careful to only let them scrape and not actually scratch. Eventually he slows, sliding out and kissing Stiles tenderly on the side of the mouth as the two of them tremble with exertion.

Derek rests only for a moment before drawing you forward by the legs and burying his face between your thighs. His beard is so rough on your sensitive skin, his tongue warm and strong and sloppy. Human fingernails run over you everywhere and he thrusts two fingers inside while wrapping his tongue around your clit. You feel hotness spreading over you, making your skin prickly and hyper-aware. A pinch of your nipple from Stiles has you keening and coming, Derek’s face still pressed into you. You arch into his tongue, and his fingers draw your orgasm out so long, longer than you thought you could go. Each press of his tongue and nip of your teeth sends another shudder through you and you reach out, holding Stiles’ hand against your skin and fisting Derek’s hair to keep him locked against you. When you’re finally limp and shaking, Derek pulls his fingers out noses downward. He wriggles his tongue inside of you and curves it, tasting Stiles’ come.

“Oh, Jesus,” you say as you shudder with another sharp wave of pleasure.

Derek pulls away and looks at you, lips and chin shiny with your wetness and Stiles’ come, and it’s unbelievably ridiculous how good it looks on him.

“Good?” he asks you, his lips not quite in a smile. The way he looks at you almost shyly nearly breaks your heart and you pull him up to you for a kiss, tasting the three of you on him.

“Yes, good.”

He smiles then, falls to the side of you, cuddling up against your shoulder as Stiles presses up behind him from the other side. The three of you listen to your deep breathing and let your sweat cool, nothing left to say.

“Give me a minute,” Derek murmurs into your shoulder and he smiles at the raised eyebrow and incredulous look you shoot at him.

Stiles laughs from the other side, flopping over so he’s in a starfish formation and taking up well more than his one-third of the bed.

“It’s Der’s turn to fuck you next.”

Derek’s hand slides down your stomach and dips into the sticky pool between your legs. You feel your body twitch and roll sideways, letting him slide in further. Derek grins wolfishly and slides closer, already hard against your leg.


	6. sneaky train handjob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky train handjob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [thatworldinverted](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com/). <3

Stiles has his nose pressed to the glass window, smudging up the frost that has accumulated with the coolness of the early morning. Trees glide by the window, the pace gradually increasing until it makes Stiles dizzy. He closes his eyes and leans back against the seat; he always gets motion sick easily.

After a moment he cracks an eyelid and sneaks a glance at Derek in a totally non-obvious way. Derek looks up from his book with a raised eyebrow, smirking slightly as Stiles slams his eyes shut again.

It’s still early and Stiles stifles a yawn and nonchalantly drapes his arm over Derek’s shoulder. Derek continues to read, unaffected.

"It’s two hours to San Francisco," Stiles says, leaning his head against Derek’s broad shoulder. His henley is soft against Stiles’ cheek and Stiles nuzzles into it, purring like a sleepy kitten. Derek grunts non-commitally and sips his coffee. He’s always half-asleep until his first cup, barely capable of speech. Not like that is much different than his usual grumpy self.

Stiles rests his head there for a while, using Derek as a warm, hairy pillow. The scent of coffee is strong, Derek solid and comforting beneath him. Stiles closes his eyes, hoping to sleep but his mind wanders. He passes the time looking at Derek’s fingers as they rest on the page, the way the book sits lightly on his lap, the way Derek breathes in and out. The train is quiet, the other patrons still sleepy and occupied with books and kindles and iPhones.

Stiles’ arm is beginning to cramp so he pulls it off of Derek’s shoulders and tucks up against his arm.

"I’m bored," Stiles says petulantly into Derek’s shirtsleeve. Derek snorts, turns to kiss Stiles on the nose before returning to his book. Derek obviously doesn’t have the same problem.

Stiles furrows his brow and tries again. “Entertain me.”

Derek downs the rest of his coffee and makes a one-handed toss to throw it into the trash can attached to the wall. His smile is delighted and he turns back to Stiles, now resembling a man who is at least mostly awake.

"Do you want to talk about something?" Derek asks. Stiles smiles, secretly pleased at how far Derek’s come since they started dating. He now indulges Stiles’ need to just talk on occasion, just because he knows Stiles likes it. It makes Stiles feel a little gooey inside, honestly.

"Well," Stiles purrs, voice lowering. "We could… _talk_." He lets his hand slip suggestively down Derek’s bicep, tucking under the hem of the sleeve and rubbing along his skin in lazy circles.

"You know I like your little mouth," Derek rumbles, voice still rough from disuse. "But this is not really the place for that." He glances around at the business people and students, and none are even looking in their direction.

"I’ll be quiet," Stiles promises seriously, twisting to press his whole chest against Derek’s arm. Derek leans back in his seat and Stiles glances down, grinning at the tightness in the front of Derek’s jeans. "You’re good at being quiet."

Derek shifts again, glancing sideways. The train rocks slightly to the right and Stiles lets it knock himself into Derek. He presses a quick kiss into the scruff at the top of Derek’s neck before drawing back to pull off his hoodie.

"Here, you look cold, Der." Stiles wads up the fabric and shoves it into Derek’s lap, grinning as Derek picks up his book and slides it into the front pocket of the seat.

Stiles leans close, rests his head on Derek’s shoulder again, and lets his hand search under the hoodie and over Derek’s jeans. He squeezes around Derek’s dick and Derek jumps about a mile.

"You’re going to have to be more subtle than that," Stiles whispers as he goes for Derek’s fly and unzips it slowly. Even he can hear the scrape of metal teeth as it lowers. "Think about what it’s going to be like, coming here, silent, your pants getting wet with your come. You’ll smell like it all day."

Derek stiffens in Stiles’ fingers, his body rigid against Stiles’ soft press. Stiles’ hand slides inside the boxers, gripping him and pulling up experimentally. Derek is so hard already, a little bit of a flush creeping over the neck of his shirt, his lips falling open. Stiles begins a slow, tugging rhythm, looking at the way Derek’s face slackens and how he tilts his head backward against the rough fabric of the headrest.

The landscape slides by, a woman walks down the aisle, the train car clatters and jerks. They listen, Stiles’ hand tight and warm, Derek fighting to keep his hips still.

"You thinking about burying your cock in me?" Stiles whispers and Derek bites his lip in response and huffs through his nose. "You can bend me over when we get to the hotel. There’ll probably be a desk. You can spread me open, stuff me full. Do you want to put your come inside me and watch it drip out? Or do you want to pull out, give my ass a slap, stripe it with your come?"

"Yes," Derek grunts out and Stiles watches in fascination as the large body gathers together in shuddering heaves. Derek is utterly silent as he comes, save for the rasping intake of breath that he can’t quite keep quiet. He looks absolutely beautiful with his eyes shut, completely unguarded. It makes Stiles proud to know that he could do that to Derek. To know that he can make him come undone. To know that the look Derek fixes him with afterward, one of soft wonder, is something only he gets to see.

Stiles’ hand is sticky, Derek’s pants a mess. Stiles grins cheekily at Derek and kisses him fully on the lips for just a moment before twisting his fingers out of Derek’s pants. He wipes them off on the hoodie and makes a face even though he’s not displeased at all.

"Guess I won’t be wearing this on the trip." Stiles shifts further back until he’s all the way in his own seat, watching Derek carefully put himself together.

"I’ll buy you another one," Derek says quietly. His face is still flushed, lips curved into a loose smile, and Stiles thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hello on [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com). I sometimes take prompts and am always excited to talk about sex or Sterek or Teen Wolf, etc. :)


	7. possessive!derek, slutty!stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek is possessive and Stiles riles him up. Humiliation kink.

Stiles can’t see it yet, but he can sense it.  The dangerous way Derek is wound like a coil, lip curled up slightly, eyes flashing electric blue in the dim light of the club.  Stiles opens his eyes slowly, lets his lips leave Peter’s with a wet smack, grins as Peter’s hands grip at his waist roughly and pull their hips flush as they shift on the chair.  Peter dips his head low, licks a thick trail along Stiles’ jaw, tracing a pattern down until he’s sucking at the bob of his adam’s apple.  The feeling is liquid and hot and just this side of wrong, and it makes Stiles grunt appreciatively and stiffen in his pants.  Stiles watches Derek slowly come apart, his blood heating beneath his skin in a way that he knows both Peter and Derek can smell.

When Peter’s hand slips into Stiles’ t-shirt, Derek finally jerks forward.  He’s across the room in a second, his claws against Peter’s throat, tipping the man’s head backwards so it’s laying against Derek’s chest.

“It’s so nice of you to share your boy,” Peter says, nonplussed and arrogant.  He grins as Stiles shifts on his lap and rubs against him before looking up at Derek with wide, honey brown eyes.  There’s a moment of panic in Stiles, absolute breathtaking fear when he worries that Derek is going to get tired of his shit once and for all and just rip out Peter’s throat right here, in front of a hundred other people.  The darkness hides his claws for now, and the slide of his fangs gleam dimly, not quite hidden but not so obvious to give them all away.

“Get the fuck away from Stiles.”  There’s menace in Derek’s voice, dripping off like blood, his fingers itching to slash and maim.  His hand slips up to grab Peter by the top of the throat in an iron grip, causing him to splutter with a choked off gurgling noise.  Peter’s hands freeze on Stiles and the playful grin wavers slightly.

“You’re such a spoil sport,” Peter rasps, before picking up his hands in a surrendering gesture.  Stiles doesn’t move off but grinds forward slightly, causing Peter to close his eyes at the contact of Stiles’ hard dick rubbing against him eagerly.  “It’s not my fault, anyways.  He climbed on top of me the second your back was turned.”

The seconds tick as the cogs in Derek’s mind grind, and then he’s dropping his hold on Peter’s throat and gripping Stiles by the wrist to haul him off the older man.  His fingers are tight on Stiles’ forearm, the bones squeezing slightly as Derek’s anger flashes through him.

“Don’t touch what’s mine,” Derek snarls, snapping his jaw close to Peter’s cheek before turning and dragging Stiles after him.

“Look, Derek,” Stiles begins as soon as they are out of the club and out onto the sparsely occupied street.  Derek’s grip is still bruising, but his fangs have retracted.  “It’s not what you…”  Stiles trails off as Derek rounds on him and crowds him up against the brick of the wall, not caring who sees them.

“Oh, it’s not what I think it is?  How dumb do you think I am, Stiles?”  Derek’s look is murderous, his hands clenching at Stiles’ shoulders before sliding down and pinning both wrists forcibly to the brick.

Stiles wisely doesn’t answer.

“It is what I think it is.  It’s exactly what I think it is.  It’s you thinking you can slut it up just to make me angry.  Just to make me tie you down and make you hurt.  That’s what you want, isn’t it Stiles?  You want to hurt, don’t you?”  Derek articulates each question with a twist of his wrists and a grind of his hips.  It pushes Stiles against the brick roughly, scraping his tender skin until blood pricks at the tips of his knuckles.  Stiles is rigid against him, panting, mouth hung open and Peter’s spit still glistening on the swell of his bottom lip.

Stiles swallows, unsure what to say.  Yes, of course that’s what he fucking wanted.  He won’t admit it though.  Or risk not getting it.

“I’m gonna make you regret this.  I’m going to make you regret every single fucking grind of your hips.  Every single sloppy kiss and press of your dick against his stomach.  I’m going to whip your ass so hard that you’ll cry when I touch you with just the tip of my claws.  And you’ll beg for me to stop and to fuck you and to pound your little ass and own you.”

Stiles is grunting now, his head knocking back against the wall, his eyes half-lidded, the point of his tongue touching the tip of his teeth.  “Please, Derek.   _Please_.”  

Derek pushes forward so their bodies are pressed together from knees to chest, and Stiles can feel every glorious muscle holding him down.  Derek’s breath is warm in the slight chill of the evening, and it makes the hair on Stiles’ nape stand on end as Derek leans in closer.  His lips brush against the shell of Stiles’ ear and he breathes out, making Stiles shudder and grind up against him.

“I’ll do all those things to you.  I promise.”

Stiles moans and slides his legs apart, letting Derek slot his thigh in between his own.  “But I’m not going to fuck you.  I’m going to let you burn all night.  I’m going to let you watch me take my cock and jerk it real slow.  And let you tell me how much you want it inside of you, fucking your slutty little hole open.  And then I’m going to come all over you, paint your face and neck, make you lick it off.  And you’ll love it.  You’ll fucking love it.”

Stiles stiffens and comes quietly, his pulsing dick trapped between Derek’s firm thigh and the hot flush of his own stomach. His body tightens in the fierce grip, the rush of blood beneath his skin flaring white-hot as Derek growls down at him.

“You’re such a slut,” Derek says, wet and growling as he bites at the soft flesh of Stiles’ neck.  Stiles pants wordlessly and closes his eyes, feeling one last splash of come soak through the cotton of his boxers at Derek’s words.  Because Derek’s right.  He does love it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com)!


	8. Laundromat AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles meets Derek in a laundromat and makes a comment about how the dryer on an unbalanced load is better than his vibrator on both days, porn ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From an anonymous [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com) prompt!

 

The first time Derek saw him, the cute mystery guy, he’d been swearing loudly at the dryer.  After a few solid kicks the thing had finally jerked to life and he had given a wide, sheepish grin to the room in general.  Derek felt a quick jolt to his gut at the way the guy’s lips had curled upward and how the point of his nose flattened slightly, making him look both exceedingly young and ridiculously attractive at the same time.  Plus there was the way his shoulders filled out his baseball shirt, all lean muscle and long limbs.  And also the way his dark hair was buzzed short, looking soft and fuzzy and just long enough to tug. It was kind of hard to look away after that.

Every Tuesday at 5:30, just like clockwork he'd be there fiddling with the change machine.  Today was no different.  Derek ducked his head so he wouldn’t look like he was staring, and started sorting through his laundry basket that was cocked on his hip.  Perhaps he’d started coming at the same time just to see if the guy would show up again.  Perhaps he’d sprinted out of work today and skipped his run just to make it there by 5:25.  Maybe he didn’t really need to wash those worn jeans one more time.

The guy turned around from the change machine and began to walk his way, and Derek resolutely looked down, embarrassed to find a pair of red boxers in his hands.

“Hey, there,” the guy, boy, whoever, said.  He set his basket down on the floor and kicked it forward, holding a large pile of quarters between his hand and his stomach.

“Hey,” Derek said, tossing the wet boxers into the dryer quickly before making the mistake of looking up into the guy’s eyes.  They were warm and bright and a curious shade of honey-brown that Derek had never seen before.  And the way the corners of his eyes crinkled up around them made him look like he was smiling without really doing so.  It was a pleasant, relaxed demeanor that Derek knew he could never manage, and it fascinated him.

Derek glanced down after a moment and went back to shoveling his clothes in the dryer, flinging with a bit of unnecessary force.

“Didn’t I see you here last week?”

“What?  Oh, yes.  I, uh, live nearby.”  Derek pitched a sock forward and watched it stick against the metal backing of the machine.

“Oh, cool.  Me too.”  The guy smiled, shifting quarters to his left hand so he could start feeding them into the machine with his right.  “I’m Stiles.”

“Derek.”  Derek had finished loading the dryer and now stood awkwardly with nothing in his hands while the guy- Stiles- fiddled with his change.  “Do you, uh, need any help with that?”   _Great.  Great opening line, idiot._

Stiles smirked slightly.  “I can handle it, thanks.”  As soon as the words were out of his mouth, quarters began to spill down his shirt and onto the floor with a loud clanging of metal on tile.  “Oh shit, sorry.”

Derek bent immediately and they both hunted around on the floor, gathering up the rolling quarters.  It seemed like there were a million of them and they had traveled at lightning speed under every single machine in sight.  Derek ended up with his hand wedged under the dryer he was using, trying to pry out one last quarter while Stiles looked down at him with what was distinctly a suppressed giggle.

“Hey, thanks.  That’s really nice of you.”  When Derek didn’t get up, Stiles arched an eyebrow at him.  “Are you… are you stuck?  Here, let me help you.”  He squatted down and pushed himself flat against the dryer, feeling under for the quarter while at the same time wrapping his fingers around Derek’s wrist and tugging.  Derek looked up in surprise at the strong grip, suddenly realizing how very close he was to Stiles’ face.  Stiles had a smattering of moles covering his cheeks and down his long neck, and Derek could count every single long eyelash.  He swallowed thickly, letting himself be tugged.  After a few good pulls they both ended up sprawled on the floor on their asses, laughter whooshing out of their lungs.

“Hey, thanks,” Derek said, flexing his reddened fingers and feeling like an idiot.  Stiles held up the quarter and grinned.

“Ah, success!”  His easy joy was infectious and Derek found himself grinning in a way that made his cheeks hurt. It wasn't something he was used to.

"These things are way too expensive," Derek said, wiping lint off of his pants and standing up. Without thinking about it he turned and extended his hand to Stiles. He took it easily, hauling himself up a bit awkwardly and turning to smile at Derek once more.

“Yeah, seriously.  I won’t be able to eat for a week but I’ll have clean underwear.”  Stiles' grin turned flirtatious as he fed the quarter into the dryer and hit the large ‘on’ button with a flourish.  “And of course you took all the good dryers.  Left me with this broken one.”

“Hey, you snooze you lose,” Derek said with a quick grin, bending down to pick up his empty basket.  He tried not to let his eyes trail down Stiles’ chest and stomach as he did, but knew he was being less than subtle.  The dryer kicked into high gear and began to shake violently, each shudder knocking the machine into the next and creating a hideous, banging rhythm.  

Stiles waggled his eyebrows, the corner of one side of his pink lips sliding into a devilish smirk.  He pressed his body up against the machine and it stilled every so slightly against his slim hips.  “Better than my vibrator, though.”  

Derek must have gone completely red in the face because Stiles was suddenly laughing jovially and turning his hips around so his back was pressed to the machine.  “You should try it.”  His voice had dropped a little and had a teasing edge to it.  Derek felt the punch to his gut once more and he grasped at the edges of the basket with sweaty hands.

“Yeah?” Derek asked, breathing in deeply through his nose.  The smell of detergent and dust was heavy in the air, mixed with a little bit of arousal Derek knew was wafting off of Stiles.

“Yeah.”  Stiles licked his lips and Derek knew he was in trouble.  His dick and brain warred for a moment before he was saved from the choice by a petite elderly woman rounding the corner with a basket on wheels.  She drove the cart right between the two of them, causing Derek to take a step backward and Stiles to bite down on his bottom lip to repress a laugh.  The woman pulled up at the end of the aisle, wedging her cart into the corner and beginning to unravel an endless array of sheets and gray bras.

“I’ll have to try it,” Derek said quietly, feeling a little ridiculous at the entire situation.

“Alright.  Next time.”  The way Stiles let the words roll off his tongue did nothing to stop the spread of warmth through Derek’s belly.  His mind helpfully supplied images of Stiles turned around, hips pressed into the vibrating dryer, legs spread slightly, back arched.  Naked.  Derek shifted the basket sideways to hide his bodies’ increasing interest.

“Next time,” Derek said, and the words felt like a promise.  He left the laundromat an hour later with a raging hard-on and Stiles’ number programmed into his phone.

 


	9. droit du seigneur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter exercises his alpha right to knot Stiles before Stiles and Derek can become mates officially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For zoeteniets. 
> 
> Warnings: voyeurism, knotting, angst, dub-con, droit du seigneur (is that a warning?).

Derek isn’t sure if he should sit or stand, cross his arms or keep them hanging, clench his fists or wield his claws.  Peter.  Peter.  There he is, smiling warmly with just a hint of malice hidden underneath.  Peter who never ceases to use his alpha voice to make them cower, just for kicks.  Peter, who is currently running his hand along Stiles’ forearm and whispering softly into Stiles’ ear while Derek watches with his jaw set.

“It’s tradition,” Peter had said.  “It’s the custom.  Before your mating ceremony, you know.  If he’s to be a part of the pack.”  Yes, Derek knew.

“It’s okay.  I love you.  This won’t change that,” Stiles had said, and the way he had looked at Derek so earnestly with honey-brown eyes and pink pouting lips had made Derek’s heart tremble and squeeze.  “Peter’s harmless,” Stiles had insisted.  “Besides, it’s  _your_  tradition.”

Tradition.  To fuck with tradition.  And pack rules.  And alpha rights.  But Stiles had pleaded and Peter had snarled, so Derek obeyed.  But he’d gone home and smashed up every plate he owned.  Stiles had said nothing as he’d swept it all up silently, hours later.

Peter had conceded to Derek’s one condition — that Derek could watch.  So now he watches, unsure why he insisted so vehemently.  He watches Peter peel Stiles out of his shirt and jeans, revealing gangly limbs and pale white skin that only Derek’s seen before.  He watches as Stiles’ virginal blush turns into a full-out flush as Peter pushes him back against his dark sheets and spreads his legs open carefully.  He watches as Peter’s pointed tongue traces patterns along the moles on Stiles’ stomach and down along the sharp curve of his hipbone.  And he burns as Stiles sighs out under Peter’s soft touch, his body arching upward beneath Peter’s clever fingers.  

But it’s Peter’s words that worm under his skin.  The way he whispers so softly that Stiles has to strain his head upward to catch the litany of praise, though Derek can hear it crystal clear.

“Lovely, wet lips, Stiles.  Listen to you moan.  Look how hard you are for me.  How wet.  What an eager little cock.”

Derek feels the points of his claws digging into his biceps as he stands rigidly.  Stiles’ crys float across the thick air of the room, the breathy sound lodging deep in Derek’s gut.  And Jesus, he’s getting turned on by those hurt-sounding whimpers that Peter is drawing from Stiles’ mouth as he sucks gently on the tip of Stiles’ cock.  Derek feels sick to his stomach.

“Derek told you about knotting, didn’t he Stiles?” Peter whispers against Stiles’ inner thigh as one finger circles lazily around Stiles’ pink cleft.  He dips inside and Stiles mewls out, panting, parting his legs further.

“Yes,” comes Stiles’ breathy answer.  Derek frowns, the tone so familiar to his ears.  He’d told Stiles.  And they’d both followed the rules for once.  They hadn’t fucked.  They hadn’t knotted.  They wouldn’t until they were mated.  They’d done a lot of other things, yes.  But not that.

Peter works his finger in all the way, the slick of lubricant easing the slide, Stiles’ skin growing clammy as he wriggles on the digit.  “Did he tell you how large it is?  How full you’ll feel?”

Stiles nods fervently, his hands fisting into the sheets as Peter pushes in a second finger alongside the first.  He’s being gentle, so gentle, and Derek sneers at the false sweetness in his Uncle’s movements.

“Did Derek get you ready for it?”

And here Derek burns inwardly because he had.  

He’d stretched Stiles with just his fingers, he’d tongued Stiles open, fucking into him with the tip of the slippery muscle until he was wet and loose.  And he’d parted him roughly and fed a plug up into him until Stiles was mewling and spreading around the silicone knot at the base of the toy, both begging Derek to push it in and simultaneously crying out that he couldn’t take it all.  And Derek had burned then, too, because he knew he was doing it for Peter.  Prepping Stiles’ virgin ass so Peter could knot him first, and make his claim as alpha of the pack.

Stiles moans again as Peter finds a sweet spot inside, stroking along as he sits up onto his knees.  He pushes one shoulder underneath Stiles’ leg, leaning forward so the boy spreads open beneath him, Peter’s twisting fingers on display, buried in Stiles’ ass.

“Enjoying this, Derek?” Peter says, turning his head sideways to give Derek a musing grin.  

Derek narrows his eyes predatorily, his claws coming out full force but remaining still and silent.  Peter pushes forward with his shoulder in retaliation, nudging Stiles open further, drawing out a full-throated groan from Stiles that makes Derek turn his head sideways to look away.  

Stiles looks like — sounds like — he’s enjoying himself, and Derek steels himself against that bit of knowledge.  But what did he expect, really?  For Stiles to laugh in Peter’s face and wink saucily at him while Derek smirked.  Well, maybe.

Peter’s lined up now, the head of his cock just teasing against Stiles, one hand holding him wide open, the other pressing Stiles’ knee backwards.

“Ready, Stiles?” Peter whispers.

“Yeah,” Stiles says with clenched eyes, and it’s like a knife to Derek’s heart.  He watches as Stiles’ face scrunches up tightly as Peter nudges inward, slowly, leisurely, carefully.  The slide is so measured that Derek can see the red flesh part and stretch, so unhurried that he can remember each detail forever.  So it can be seared on his brain how Peter had claimed what is his so easily.  And how Stiles had submitted with a whimper and a sigh, his body soft and pliant and willing.

Peter drops loving kisses against Stiles’ knee, each lick and press of hips against Stiles’ waiting body like a dull slice of a blade through Derek’s soft skin.

They are silent as Peter builds up a rhythm, Stiles’ breath pushed out forcibly at each thrust, the rasping harsh in Derek’s ears.  The sounds of sex grow louder — the creak of mattress springs, the slap of skin, the squelch of air pushed from the space between their sweat-drenched bodies.  The slide of slick as Peter’s dick draws out to the tip and Stiles stretches around it, mewling.  

And then there’s Stiles’ little noises that Derek’s so used to being hot against his ear.  The little hurt yelps that turn into grunts that grow into full-throated wailing that Stiles has to stifle with his own hand.  

And then Stiles starts to talk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s big.  Jesus.  Jesus, Peter.”

And Peter’s answer: “You can take it.  You can take it, Stiles.  Look at how good you’re doing.  Look at how you spread for my knot.”

And Derek looks, he sees exactly how good Stiles is doing.  He sees his boy’s flushed body, sees him clawing at Peter like there’s no tomorrow, sees him hold Peter tight against him so he can’t leave.  

When it’s over, when Peter’s finally came and knotted and held Stiles tight and sucked bruises into Stiles’ neck, Derek can’t be in the room any longer.  He waits on Peter’s couch, body warring between livid hatred and numbness, until Stiles comes out of the bedroom looking uncomfortable in his clothes and flushed all over.

Stiles is quiet on the way home and Derek turns away when the boy gingerly steps out of the car and down onto the pavement of the parking lot.  And that evening, when Stiles tries to talk about it, when he puts his hands onto Derek’s cheek and tries to tug his face over so they can look in the eyes for the first time since— Derek rolls to the side.  He stares at the wall and the backs of his hands until Stiles finally gives up and goes to sleep.


	10. Derek plugs Stiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From twi's prompt: FILTHY. PLUG. PORN. Preferably something where Stiles has to walk around, all plugged up, and the entire pack knows it, can smell it, and Derek is smug and smirking and dropping dirty little comments to get Stiles even more worked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [thatworldinverted](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Warnings: Daddy kink, exhibitionism.

"Pass me the popcorn, Stiles," Derek says with a sweet smile that Stiles wants to slap off his handsome, scruffy face.  He’s seated next to Stiles on the couch with one leg tucked up beneath him, perfectly capable of grabbing his own damn popcorn.

“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Stiles pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and looking resolutely at the TV screen.  Scott had insisted on MST3K and the giant Godzilla rumbling across the screen was funny until about two minutes ago.  When Derek had started poking him in the side and whispering filthy things in his ear.

“I don’t want to get up.  Isaac might steal my seat.”  Derek nudges forward with his foot against Isaac’s leg, making the wolf grumble.  He’s sprawled out in front of the couch, his blond curls resting on Allison’s back while Scott is pressed up on the other side of her with a dopey grin on his face.  Isaac doesn’t look likely to move at  _all_.

Stiles frowns, debating his options.  Pull a hissy fit and have Derek make him.  And probably punish him later.  Though really,  _rawr_.  Or reach over the side of the couch to grab the popcorn bowl resting on the floor.  It wouldn’t be a problem at all if not for the thick plug seated in his ass, making him bite back a groan with every small movement he makes.  He wriggles in his seat and spreads his legs a little, feeling the plug move inside of him ever so slightly.  It’s a bit slippery, Derek’s come leaking out the edges and pooling wetly inside Stiles’ boxers.  It makes him feel dirty and used, and though he’s just come hard an hour ago, spread out over Derek’s bed while Derek marked him up with sucking bites, Stiles’ dick twitches in his pants.

Derek glances over at him again, looking entirely too pleased at Stiles’ predicament.  His hands rest casually on his thighs, lips drawn up into something resembling an evil smirk with way too many canines on display.   _Bad wolf_ , Stiles thinks, letting his fingers drum on his pants as he stares Derek down.

An arched eyebrow from Derek makes Stiles finally grit his teeth and bend over, the plug rubbing against him intimately with the movement.  The pressure has his mouth hanging open with a silent intake of breath, blood flowing straight to his dick and making it swell against the seam of his boxers.  Two wolves snap their heads sideways, Scott and Isaac shooting him a strange look that makes Stiles flush hot all over.  Apparently not all of his blood went straight to his dick.

He grabs at the bowl of popcorn quickly and rights himself, tugging it down so it’s covering the tent in his pants but doing absolutely nothing to mask his scent.  Scott turns away quickly in shared embarrassment, but Isaac gives a little secret smirk before turning back to rest his chin on Allison’s shoulder.  

Stiles doesn’t even know why he and Derek pretend anymore.  Everyone knows.  They’ve known for a while.  Especially since that one embarrassing time when Derek had made Stiles come in his pants in the bathroom and wouldn’t let him change before parading him out in front of everyone.

Two deep breaths in and out and Stiles feels slightly more in control.  He hands the bowl to Derek without looking at him, crossing his feet at the ankles and keeping perfectly still so as to not rock the plug any further.  He already feels like he might spontaneously combust, and Derek’s smirk and flick of his tongue along his pink lips is not helping matters.

Stiles blinks and Derek’s suddenly right next to him, his thigh pressed against Stiles’, his arm curling over the slope of Stiles’ shoulder.  His fingers fish in the popcorn bowl, and Derek brings up one buttery kernel to Stiles’ lips and slides it inside.  Stiles grabs it between his teeth, trying not to touch with his tongue but flicking against the tip of Derek’s finger accidently.  

“You gonna be good for Daddy later?” Derek whispers right in Stiles’ ear.  It shoots straight to his cock, making it throb hotly.  Stiles feels a bit of precome squeeze out and make a wet pool on the tip, his boxers growing sticky and tight.  

Isaac turns to smirk at them again while Scott shuffles his body sideways, reaching to grab the remote and turn up the volume of the movie until it’s just shy of deafening.  Allison gives him a questioning look but he just shrugs at her and shares a confused eyebrow conversation with Isaac.

Stiles stiffens, knowing the two heard the exact filthy words Derek had whispered.  And can smell how turned on he is at the moment.  Derek’s beard is soft on Stiles’ cheek and ear, his tongue flicking out against the shell gently.  It distracts Stiles enough so that he doesn’t notice the way Derek’s hand is sneaking downward along his spine.  But when Derek pushes it underneath Stiles’ ass and makes like he’s going to tap at the plug seated there, Stiles rockets up from his seat.

“I’m gonna…” he says awkwardly, tugging down on his plaid overshirt and turning his hips from sideways to dead on to try and hide his truly unfortunate and throbbing boner.  “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Stiles can’t hear what Derek and Isaac are saying, but his cheeks flame a beet-red the entire way to the small room.  When he gets there he shoves his pants down and immediately palms his cock, sighing out as quietly as possible.

“Derek, you bastard,” Stiles grunts, knowing Derek can hear him perfectly well.  And Scott and Isaac, too.  He debates the merits of jerking off quickly versus Derek making him suffer later and decides to tuck himself back in his pants.  He comes out several minutes later after a failed attempt at Zen breathing and this time sits in the armchair, far away from Derek and his light green eyes and stupidly large biceps.  

The plug still shifts though, feeling massive and unyielding, and now Stiles is wet from both the tip of his cock and the come leaking out from the edges of the base.  He narrows his eyes and waits until the movie’s finished and the other three leave, the remaining hour agonizing and ridiculously uncomfortable.  And then it’s just Derek there, sitting on the couch with his legs spread, his steady gaze examining Stiles’ flushed and agitated state.

“Come over here, baby boy,” he says softly, and Stiles hops up immediately, sick of waiting.  The quick movement jostles the plug and he feels it in each step that he takes.  Stiles falls to his knees in between the easy splay of Derek’s knees, letting out a soft mewl as gravity shifts the toy inside of him.  “Tell Daddy what you want.”

Stiles swallows, the words always difficult to get out the first time.  “I want you to fuck me, Daddy.”

Derek raises a thick eyebrow and Stiles adds quickly, “Please.”


	11. bottom!Derek, humiliation & spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bottom!Derek, top!Stiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: humiliation and spanking

Stiles’ first slap stings; the boy is much stronger than he looks.  All those years of tripping down the lacrosse field and running suicides have given his muscles a gorgeous edge of tone that hides behind the zippered hoodies and a goofy grin.  Sometimes Stiles is playful, sometimes he’s loud and needy.  And sometimes— sometimes he tells Derek right where he wants him and  _right the fuck_ _now_  please before I make you.  Derek will never admit it out loud, but he likes those times.  A lot.

“Get that ass up higher,” Stiles barks out, bringing his palm down on the already reddened skin.  Derek obeys immediately, pushing his knees together and arching backwards into the touch.  He grunts deeply at each new stinging blow, and lets his body be swayed forward with the force.  “I said face down against the mattress.  Can’t you do anything right?”

The words burn more than the spank of Stiles’ palm, and Derek feels his cock aching with pressure.  It hangs heavily between his legs, untouched, leaking, Stiles’ slaps growing dangerously close to the underside of his balls.  He’s shaking all over, begging wordlessly with his body for more or less or just fucking anything Stiles will give him.  He just wants Stiles, he wants him to push his tongue inside of him, his fingers, his dick, fuck him ‘til he’s blue in the face and crying big fat tears of pleasure-pain.  And more than anything else, he wants to hear how good he is, how good Stiles thinks he is.  That he’s worth putting up with and kissing and being held down and fucked.

“Are you gonna beg for my cock?”  Stiles flattens his palm and swings with more force, causing Derek to cry out as each blow hits its mark on the tender skin.  “Because I don’t think you really deserve it.”

Derek shuts his eyes tightly and nods slightly in agreement.  No, no he doesn’t deserve it.

“Tell me what you are.”  More slaps, followed by Stiles pinning Derek down to the bed by the neck, draping his body over Derek’s large form.  He pushes forward, rubbing his dick along Derek’s ass and Derek strains upward, desperate, aching.

“Your slut,” Derek whispers, ducking his face into the pillow.  Stiles’ fingers dig in deep against the tendons in Derek’s neck, the grip both sharp and strong.  

“That’s right,” Stiles murmurs against the too-hot skin.  “Spread your legs for me.”

Derek does, slides his knees apart, feels Stiles fit his body even tighter against his back.  Stiles’ dick is brushing against him in teasing circles and he darts out his tongue, licking a messy trail from Derek’s shoulder blades to the curve of his spine.  He searches with his long fingers, probing against the cheeks of Derek’s ass and pulling him apart roughly while Derek mewls beneath him.  “Eager little slut, aren’t you?”

Derek nods fervently.  Yes.  Yes he is.  He’s Stiles’ slut.  Just Stiles.  Only Stiles.

“Say please.”  Stiles is hovering now, not touching, but close enough that Derek can hear every quick breath and can smell Stiles’ precome and sweat.

“ _Please._ ”  Derek’s voice is quiet, muffled by the pillow, his tone laced with desperation.  The cool air brushes agonizingly over his heated thighs and ass as he waits for Stiles’ reply.

“Good boy.”  

The words of praise make Derek hot all over, and he groans a guttural and inhuman noise as Stiles pushes straight forward and buries just the head of his cock inside.


	12. The Hales court Stiles with curly fries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Derek court Stiles with curly fries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For runemarks. I'm now [taking prompts](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com/promptfaq) on tumblr!

Stiles makes loud sucking noises with his straw, trying to siphon out the last of the whipped cream at the bottom of his chocolate milkshake.  He licks his lips and pulls up his hood, glancing around the grimy diner.  It’s nearly empty at this time of night, but he can’t be too careful.  He drove all this way to get away from Beacon Hills, and the last thing he wants to do is find a familiar face.  His waitress comes by and snaps her gum, looking down at him with ruby red lips and blue-lined eyelids.

“Anything else, hon?”

Stiles shakes his head no, hating that epithet, and she gives him a sticky-sweet smile.

“Alright.  I’ll get your check.”

He swirls the straw through the dregs of chocolate, bringing it up to his mouth to lick off the remains before nearly choking on them as he sees who walks through the door.

Of course.  It’s the fucking Hales, looking smug and gorgeous, like they’d just walked out of some catalogue for menswear.  Derek has his leather jacket pulled up around his neck against the bite of winter, and Peter has on only a sweater.  With a deep V, of course, showing off his ridiculously attractive neck and a hint of muscle beneath.  They are dressed way too lightly for the weather; stupid werewolves always run hot.  Stiles instinctively hunkers down behind his hood though he knows there is absolutely zero chance that they are here by coincidence.

Peter turns to look at him, stealing a plate of curly fries from the counter on the way over and sliding into the booth seat across from Stiles with his normal grace.  Derek trails behind, hanging awkwardly at the edge of the table while they all stare at each other.  Peter gives Stiles a wide grin and opens his mouth but Stiles cuts him off.

“What are you doing here?”  Stiles crosses his arms petulantly, feeling a bit like a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  Except that he wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong.  These two psychos were trailing after him like lost puppies that he just didn’t have the heart to kick.

“Looking for you,” Derek says, and Stiles rolls his eyes at the obviousness of that statement.  Stupid Derek.  Always saying the wrong thing and then shutting his mouth up with that beautiful frown.

“Look, I told you already…”  Stiles narrows his eyes as Peter takes a curly fry and brings it up to his lips to take a bite.  “Did you just steal those?”

Peter shrugs, pushing the plate towards Stiles with his fingertips.  Stiles eyes it warily, but hey, he’s kind of a glutton, who’s he kidding.  He grabs a fry and shoves the curl in his mouth, the grease mingling with the chocolate of the milkshake in that pleasant, yet disgustingly unhealthy sort of way.

“We came to say we’re sorry,” Peter says, and slides over so he can tug Derek into the booth by the sleeve.

Stiles raises his eyebrow with suspicion.

“And we want you to give us another chance.”  Peter does look earnest, and Stiles’ eyebrows climb even higher.

“We’re reasonable,” Derek says, and here Stiles has to stop to laugh hysterically which causes him to drop his fry.  “Peter will tone it down.  We’ll pick you up at the front door, after clearing it with your dad.  No howling outside your window at midnight again.  And no more fighting.  We promise.”

Stiles shoves another curly fry down, thinking.  They look so sad, Derek’s face having that terrible, lost look on it like after that time Boyd…  Stiles cuts that thought off immediately.  Peter looks a little more together, but concern is written plainly across his face.

“Here’s the deal,” Stiles says, and he smirks inwardly as he sees the two wolves perk up in their seats.  “No shenanigans.  No wolfy nonsense.  No fights for dominance, no growling over who gets to share the covers and who gets the ‘good’ side of the bed.”

Derek and Peter nod enthusiastically, and Stiles lets his smile peek out slightly.  

“But no sneaking around, either.  We tell my dad this time.  Okay?”

“Right,” Peter agrees.  “Last time was… It was bad.”

Stiles shudders with the memory and the fast-talking he had spun in order to save his dad from a serious need for mental bleach.  Because he was  _so_  not going there.  Having to explain why two naked werewolves were snarling at each other in the front yard was something he could happily lived without, thank you very much.  He’s not quite sure they fooled him but at least he wasn’t asking Stiles ridiculous questions anymore about werewolf sexual practices or opening his door to check on him at night after he thought Stiles was asleep.

“Right.  Bad.  So bad,” Stiles says, moving his foot forward so it’s rubbing against both of their ankles.  “And.  You pay for those fries.”

Peter grins and shoves Derek out of the way to find the waitress, and Derek hesitates and then moves over to scoot along the seat next to Stiles.  They are squished together in the small seat, Derek warm against him, breathing quietly as he looks at Stiles with soft eyes.

“I  _am_  sorry,” Derek says before leaning down to brush his lips gently against Stiles’ own.  The kiss is sweet, much sweeter than Derek’s ever kissed him before.  Usually he’s hard and firm, desperate and groping.  It’s nice.

Stiles returns the kiss, tasting Derek, letting the richness of his milkshake and fries color the experience.  He pulls away and shoves at Derek playfully, gripping at the front of his leather jacket so the wolf can’t get too far .  “I can’t believe I caved so easily.”

“You can’t resist us,” Derek says with a rare smile, and Stiles laughs out, feeling light once again.  Peter returns with three milkshakes and another plate of fries, and Stiles eats it all happily even though it makes him sick to his stomach.


	13. Steter - paralyzed with duct tape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter takes advantage of a duct taped, paralyzed Stiles. From the episode De-Void, 3x22.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Established relationship, non-con/dub-con, paralysis, bondage.
> 
> and uh, I'm taking smut prompts on [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com) if you'd like to leave me one. :)

Stiles looks so wrecked, eyes dark and sunken, hair a sweaty mess.  Not like Stiles is ever that put together, really.  But despite the sleep-deprived pallor there’s an air of haughty snideness that arches his brows and makes his lips twist in a smirk even though his mouth is covered in silver duct tape.  He looks exhausted yet satisfied and arrogant, even in his bonds.

“Just how I like you.  Bound and gagged for me,” Peter says, striding forward like a predator.

Stiles, the trickster, raises his eyebrows.  And yes, it’s not the first time this has happened.  How many times has Peter circled around him, trapped him, held him down and just taken what he wanted?  How many times has Stiles let him?  Peter watches as Stiles tries to twist in the bonds, but all he gets is a frustrated growl for his troubles.  It makes the wolf smile, sinister, his blood heating through his veins.  Stiles reeks of adrenaline and power, of lust and rage.  And he can do nothing but look at Peter with the heat of his eyes and tongue against the tape sealing his lips.

Peter paces closer, sinking down to sit on the coffee table in front of Stiles with an easy spread of his legs.  The boy is seated rigidly on the couch, bound at the wrists and ankles even though it is completely unnecessary due to the paralytic poison running through his veins.  And not like the darkness in Stiles couldn’t rip open a few little strands of duct tape once his power returns.

“How many times have I had you before, just like this, Stiles?” Peter asks quietly.  He watches as Stiles blinks back at him, his eyes narrowing down at Peter.  The honey-brown color looks deeper in the darkness of the room, and Stiles holds his head high proudly.  Peter always loves breaking his boy, loves it when Stiles eggs him on until he has no choice but to punish him.  To make him squirm and cry.

“I do like you quiet.  So helpless.  All you’ll do is be able to bounce on my dick and moan behind that tape.  But then again…”  Peter trails off as he slides his nails down along Stiles’ cheek before lacing his fingers behind Stiles’ head.  He tilts Stiles backwards, presses a chaste kiss to the thin lips, the tape dulling the sensation.

“Your mouth…”  Peter lets the claws on his right hand out, running them down over Stiles’ eyelids, along his nose, tapping at the tip before drawing down in a hot path over Stiles’ chest.  The boy is breathing deeply, his nostrils flaring as all he can do is look at what Peter is doing to him.  Peter flicks a claw casually over Stiles’ nipple, the bud tensing up visibly through Stiles’ tight t-shirt.  He grins at the response and the little moan that Stiles can’t quite repress.  The poison has made it so Stiles can’t move, but not so that he can’t feel.

“I think I’ve had enough play time,” Peter murmurs, his voice catching in his throat.  It sounds a little rough even to his own ears, and he’s throbbing hard in his pants just looking at Stiles wrapped up like a present.  He’s so close and all he’s done is barely touched.  He pulls Stiles down roughly, manhandles the thin body so it’s flipped over and Stiles is face first against the couch.  Peter turns Stiles’ head so he can at least breathe, smirking down at the way Stiles is staring at him from the corner of his eye with an unreadable expression.  The position looks painful even to Peter, and he warms inwardly and tugs quickly at Stiles’ jeans.  They drag over his slim hips, the boxers along with them, and Peter has a brief flash of the Nogitsune playing roughly with Stiles’ body.  Fucking himself on three fingers while Stiles jerks off into his hand, fast and furious, and with a litany of curse words spilling from those innocent looking lips.  Fuck, that’s hot.  He pulls hard on the pants to tug them down until they are bunched around Stiles’ knees and his ass is on full display. He shucks his own down as well, hurried and eager.

Peter kneels down, torn between pressing his mouth to Stiles’ sweet hole, or just fucking the living daylights out of his little toy.  He brought lube, of course he has lube, keeps it in his pocket just for times when he wants to slick Stiles up and fuck him without any premeditation.  And Stiles lets him, he always lets him.

The noise that is drawn from Stiles’ throat is a cross between a howl and a muted gasp as Peter holds Stiles open with both hands and just pushes straight inward.  It’s tight, so incredibly tight, Stiles’ ass squeezing around Peter’s dick and he almost doesn’t know if he can get in all the way.  Peter grunts with the pressure as he eases further inside, his brain blank except for  _StilesStilesStiles_ , his body draping forward.  Stiles is motionless beneath him, his smaller body rocking only slightly with each of Peter’s lazy grinds.

“Now, be a good boy and stay where I put you,” Peter says with a sadistic chuckle as he pulls back and then angles forward with a vicious thrust.  Stiles does nothing but moan beneath him.


	14. Sterek plug with wolf tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wears a plug with a wolf tail attached for Derek.

Stiles bites his lip as he watches Derek’s eyes flick over the plug he’s currently pulling out of his backpack. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. The internet is a wonderful— wonderful and terrible — place, and the overnight shipping had only put a slight dent in his weekend funds. But there he is, nervous, irrationally afraid of Derek’s reaction.

The plug feels heavy in his hands, the glass a solid weight, smooth and clear and large. It hadn’t seemed so large in the picture. And the tail. The tail is beautiful. Downy-soft and a plush thickness, gray with white flecks and a pure white tip. The tail of a wolf. Stiles strokes it idly, feels his cheeks heat up as Derek’s gaze trails over his long fingers before settling right at Stiles’ throat. It makes him swallow and tilt back slightly, his chin tipped upward to bare his long neck without a conscious thought.

Derek’s cheek ticks and he licks his lips, the only small signs that he is letting his iron grip of control slip. It thrills Stiles, makes him ungodly nervous, makes his fingers sweat. He grasps the tail tightly, pulling it to his chest, his whole body warm and flushed all over.

“Is this okay?” Stiles asks, the side of his lips quirking up into a quick grin to mask his nerves. 

When Derek smiles it is gorgeous and sweet and dirty and predatory all at once, and that makes the ball of nerves in Stiles’ stomach tighten up into a thick knot.

“Come here, pup,” Derek says in a no-nonsense tone, and Stiles scrambles to obey. He shuffles onto his hands and knees, not quite sure what to do. But Derek seems satisfied, is looking over him with something more like ownership, and that settles right in Stiles’ belly like soft ice cream. Derek’s large hands reach out, stroke along Stiles’ face, brush against his lips. Stiles nips at him and Derek pushes a finger inside Stiles’ mouth, letting him gnaw at him like a puppy. The laugh that comes out softly from Derek’s throat surprises Stiles and he relaxes slightly under the loving pets.

Derek’s hands slide to Stiles’ waist and turn him around slowly, pushing down between Stiles’ shoulder blades until he’s face first against the sheets. The move has Stiles aching with quiet need as he feels blood begin to rush down to his groin and pool there hotly. Derek’s fingers are soft, the creaks of the bed quiet, Stiles’ breath coming in slow pants as his body waits with rigid anticipation.

Derek says nothing as he dips his hands into Stiles’ waistband and tugs, flicking open the button to drag the jeans down over bony hips. Stiles makes a tiny noise in the back of his throat as the cool air hits his feverish skin. His boxers catch on his ridiculously hard dick before being tugged downward, and he grunts fully as it finally springs free and bounces upward to slap against his stomach.

“Derek,” Stiles murmurs softly, both pleading and chiding.

“Shhhh,” Derek says as his hand smooths over the curve of Stiles’ back before sweeping down to cup along his hip. “Little wolves don’t speak.”

Stiles clamps his jaw shuts and frowns. He hadn’t counted on that.

“And what do they do, then?” Of course he can’t keep his mouth shut for even a second.

A firm slap against Stiles’ ass makes him yelp out in surprise. 

“Quiet, pup. Before I make you be quiet.”

Stiles wants to ask how, but he doesn’t push it. Instead he strains backward into Derek’s touch, relishing the feel of whisper-soft strokes over the tingling skin. Derek’s fingers tickle before they press a little deeper, a little harder, his hand sliding up over Stiles’ still-clothed back to wrap around the base of Stiles’ neck and pin him down.

“I think my little wolf needs to learn how to respect his Alpha.”

Stiles groans at the words and spreads his legs. He looks upward at Derek’s looming body, his bearded face hovering close by, eyes a dark, mossy green. Stiles suddenly is desperate for the brilliant flash of red, for Derek’s claws, for the wolf’s strength against him.

The hand tightens on Stiles’ neck, the rest of him cooling with the loss of body heat as Derek shifts away. Stiles cranes his neck to try and see but Derek’s low growl makes him freeze. His thighs are beginning to tremble from being spread so wide, from the pent up nerves, from the excess energy Stiles can never seem to shake off. Derek pets along his flanks, soothing him before lining up the glass base of the plug.

Stiles whines and jolts forward, the feeling somehow unexpected even after all of the build-up. His brain feels jumbled, confused, the desire to submit to Derek’s claim slowly clawing its way deep inside, into the animal part where all that exists is need and want and yes and now. As Derek pushes forward with the plug, Stiles tries to breathe in deeply like Derek had taught him. Inhale. Exhale. Relax. Release. The plug is big, the rounded edge pushing against his rim, the pressure of the largest portion seeming almost too much to take. He fights the urge to stiffen up, wanting to please Derek, wanting to hear the pride in his voice as he whispers against his skin. He pushes backwards, the plug suddenly popping through the muscle and filling him up heavily. The sensation is always a surprise, always a stretch, always a burn. No matter how many times Derek fills him, and no matter how many different things he fills him with.

Derek gives him only a moment before pressing forward gently, pushing in the plug further until the flared end is resting right against Stiles and he feels impossibly full. The tail hangs down between his legs, the soft hair brushing against his inner thighs and tickling him. He feels stuffed and heavy, the air difficult to breathe as his mind shifts into the here and now, Derek’s fingers and the plug, his stretched rim and the brimming fullness inside.

A tug on the tail makes Stiles seize up, his body clenching around the glass neck of the toy, his mouth hanging open with a wet gasp. The tip of his tongue touches the roof of his mouth and he stays it in time, pleased with himself. Sweat beads on his brow, seeping into the edges of his hair, making him feel sticky all over.

“Up,” Derek says with command, and Stiles pushes up on his arms until he’s on all fours, peering back at Derek shyly. The plug settles inside him as he moves and it presses down with gravity, the tail swishing back and forth. Stiles hears whining noises, faintly registering that they are coming from his chest.

“On the floor.” 

Stiles feels his cock swell further, a bit of pre-come leaking out, its smell sharp and thick in the air. The flare of Derek’s nostrils excites him; he knows the wolf is scenting him.

“Sit back. Spread your legs.”

Stiles obeys, has to clench tightly to prevent the plug from slipping down, its weight heavy against his rim, the tail hanging down between his legs. He feels flushed all over, his body on display to the rake of Derek’s gaze. He looks dark and serious, his frown making his face more handsome, making Stiles more desperate to please.

He pushes his head back again, needing to show his submission, wanting Derek to touch him, to praise him, to fuck him, to do something. And Stiles bites his tongue, unable to do anything but offer himself up.

“Such a good little wolf,” Derek finally says, nudging at Stiles’ cock with his foot.

Stiles swells with the praise, his dick aching, his body tight, the plug thick and full, reminding him to whom he belongs. Derek, always Derek. Always stretched for him. Waiting for him. 

Derek smiles and comes closer, sitting at the edge of the bed and spreading his thighs. “Are you thirsty, pup?”

Stiles licks his lips and nods, only moving forward when Derek crooks his finger to grant silent permission.


	15. Sterek orgasm denial and overstimulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterek orgasm denial followed by Derek making Stiles come so much he cries.

Stiles always looks so pretty when he begs. The way he tosses his head back, how he bucks his hips into the sheets and writhes against Derek. The tiny catch in his throat as he breathes in sharply. And the way his voice slowly turns from snarky boasting to needy pleas.

“Jesus, Derek. Please. Please. Need your cock. Need you now. Need to come.” It’s been a half an hour and Stiles looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust. His cock is flushed red, flat against his stomach, sticky fluid squeezing out and making a mess across his belly.

Derek says nothing, guides Stiles’ hands up to the headboard and pushes them against the rounded slats. Stiles whines fully as he grasps onto them, obeying Derek’s silent command. Holding on is always harder than being bound, Derek knows. Which is precisely why he does it. It means Stiles has the choice, and he chooses the sweet torment. He chooses to trust Derek. 

The sleek slide of muscles just beneath the skin is gorgeous, Stiles’ entire body straining forward, the thick scent of his desperation filling the air. He grows silent and looks up at Derek with large eyes, his lashes already wet with tears. It makes Derek smile, the small heated one that makes Stiles’ heartbeat trip because he knows exactly what’s coming.

“Don’t let go,” Derek says softly against the inner skin of Stiles’ flexing bicep. He draws backwards to kneel between Stiles’ legs, taking his fill of the trembling boy spread out before him. Slowly, he eases Stiles’ legs back, folding the lanky body over and leaning forward with his weight so Stiles is pressed down into the mattress. Derek smiles at the way Stiles fidgets beneath him, struggling to bring as much of his body in contact with Derek’s as possible. He thrusts his hips up and whines out when their cocks brush briefly.

“Have you been a good boy?” Derek asks, sitting back on his haunches but keeping his hands underneath Stiles’ knees to hold him open. Stiles shudders, his fingers still clenched around the headboard slats, his hips shaking against the bed.

“Yes. I’m good. So good. Please.”

Derek smiles at the supplicating tone, at how Stiles has held on so tightly, at how he’s waited so long, just because Derek asked. He slides his finger in a light pattern along the back of Stiles’ thigh, making him twitch violently at the touch. He trails lower, dipping between his legs, drawing the lightest of touches over the base of Stiles’ balls and along the sensitive skin just beneath.

“What do good boys get?” Derek asks as his fingertip glides lower, the blunt nail lightly scraping. He turns his hand over and pushes his fingertip against Stiles’ clenched hole, stroking there idly.

“Good boys get to come,” Stiles breathes out as he throws his head back. Derek watches him visibly try to relax, his desperation having tightened his body up everywhere. The air stirs warmly between them as Derek pushes forward with his finger, sliding inward easily as Stiles mewls beneath him.

“Good boys come on my fingers,” Derek corrects. He pushes in further, feeling the muscle fluttering around his knuckle, his own dick pulsing in his pants as he watches it happen. “And then they spread their legs again and let me lick and suck until they come on my tongue. And then they beg and beg until they cry. And then, then they come on my dick.”

A full-throated groan spills from Stiles’ mouth and he tightens his grip on the headboard. “Please, Der. Please.”

Derek tugs down with his finger, making room for a second to slip in with difficulty. Stiles is so tight, so amazingly tight, clenched and furnace-hot around him.

“Will you do that for me, Stiles? Will you be my good boy?” Derek glances from between where his fingers are currently disappearing inside Stiles’ body up to the boy’s blood-red lips, swollen from where he’s been biting down with force.

“Yes, yes, Derek, please. I’m your good boy. I’ll be your good boy. Please.”

Satisfied, Derek bends down to lick a stripe up the underside of Stiles’ slender cock, sucking the tip just inside his mouth. He twists his fingers cruelly and Stiles shouts out, his entire body stretching and tightening, his muscles going rigid. The orgasm creeps through his blood, flares out in a stretch of fiery sparks through his limbs, his toes curling in the air. Derek watches in fascination as Stiles’ body heaves, his dick pulsing and a thick stream of come splashes up and paints his stomach and chest.

Stiles has barely stopped shuddering before Derek bends his legs back further, leaning down to kiss along his thighs and lick at the base of his fingers still pressed tight inside. Stiles’ dick twitches in a final spasm, his come a thick pool sliding down the sides of his belly. The fingers are removed and replaced by Derek’s tongue, wet and thick, his beard brushing and tickling. Derek’s fingers are sticky against Stiles’ thighs and he lets out a wrecked noise as he trembles under the onslaught.

It’s too much, it’s too soon, way too soon. Stiles shudders with whole-body spasms as Derek works his tongue inside, licking sloppily, pinning him down effortlessly with just his hands. Stiles loses his grip on the headboard, his fingers slippery, and he throws his hands down on the bed to fist in the sheets.

Derek pulls away, frowning, his eyes narrowing down at Stiles’ flushed and quivering form. He pushes his fingers through the come, trailing his hand over Stiles’ softening cock and making him wriggle and moan once more. 

“I thought you were going to be good,” Derek says as he uses the come to slick up Stiles’ cock, tightening his fingers into a circle around the base.

“I… I can’t,” Stiles gets out with a stuttering voice, but his hands reach back up to grasp the headboard. Watching Stiles strung out and crying, lying in a puddle of his own come, knuckles white with a stiff grip does something to Derek’s animal brain. He bends down to tongue against Stiles’ slit, relishing the way his boy cries out at the rush of sensation along his overly hot skin. Big fat tears begin to slide down his cheeks and Derek smiles against the sweaty skin.

“Yes, you can, Stiles,” he murmurs as Stiles begins to shake in his hands. He continues to stroke Stiles in smooth tugs, not stopping until the tears are streaking his face and Stiles is red-faced and sobbing, riding the agonizing brink of orgasm once more.


	16. Steter - Peter knots Stiles' mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter knots Stiles' mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com) prompt from a-little-bit-of-ultra-violence. :)

Stiles never really developed good table manners. Maybe it was the product of living in an all male household and too many times eating just Cheetos for dinner, but he never learned to wipe his mouth. Or close it while chewing. Or not to slurp soup off of the spoon or blow bubbles in his milkshake. 

Peter’s taken note. In fact, he’s fascinated. He could watch Stiles’ mouth all day, thrown open with an easy laugh, his grin impossibly wide. Or curved around Peter’s dick like it is now, tongue sloppy and lips dark pink and shiny. He laps at Peter like he’s an ice cream cone, swirling around the flared head and flicking forward with pointed licks right at the tip. Stiles is so wet, so sloppy as he slurps and sucks, his cheeks hollowing out and spit beginning to collect at the corners of his mouth.

Though it pains him physically, Peter pulls away from the boy’s mouth just to see the line of spit stretch from the tip of his soaked dick all the way to Stiles’ plump lips. He rubs against them, smearing pre-come and painting a shiny line right down his chin. Stiles hangs there in the air with his eyes half-lidded and mouth slack, tongue darting down to taste Peter on his lips.

“You’re such a sloppy boy,” Peter says as he trails his fingers down across Stiles’ cheek and presses the tips to Stiles’ lips. Stiles sucks on them immediately, his teeth grazing along the knuckles while Peter closes his eyes in pleasure. “So eager for your mouth to be filled up, aren’t you Stiles?”

Stiles grunts around the fingers and Peter pushes inward, sliding along the wriggling tongue, his other hands reaching down to grasp Stiles firmly by the chin. He watches Stiles’ throat work enthusiastically, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows when Peter pushes in all the way to the webbing of his fingers. Stiles is drooling a little bit now, the spit sliding wetly down his chin and onto the top of Peter’s hand where he’s holding him still.

The slippery tongue wraps around Peter’s fingers and Peter’s dick throbs at the sensation. He can feel the dull ache blossoming up from his gut, the base already growing slightly thicker. Peter watches Stiles’ eyes, the way they turn puppy dog sweet with a slight glaze as they focus on the first signs of Peter’s knot. It makes Peter grin, feral and dirty, towering above Stiles as he kneels on the cool tile of the floor. The boy’s dark hair is a mess, flattened from where Peter has run his hands through it repeatedly. It’s long now, much longer than when they’d first met, when he’d had that darling buzz cut that felt fantastic but wasn’t long enough to grab. Peter pulls out his fingers and fists into the hair, possession curling in a satisfying warmth through his chest.

“Open up,” Peter commands, tugging back roughly on Stiles’ hair. His grip is strong on the chin, Stiles held tightly into position, lips falling open. Peter absolutely thrills to see the way his cock looks against Stiles’ lips, the way he tries to mouth around him but can’t because Peter has him held open. He pushes the head inward and watches it disappear between the wet lips slowly. Stiles’ mouth is so lovely, so wide, so pink, and the way he’s spread around Peter and moaning makes Peter’s toes curl.

He shoves in slowly, his fingers tightening in Stiles’ hair, his hand slipping from Stiles’ jaw to the back of his neck. He’s tilted back at an angle now, making hurt little mewling noises as Peter drives all the way in, bumping at the back of Stiles’ throat. Watching him take it all, watching Stiles’ eyes water as his jaw opens wide, combined with the feel of the wriggling tongue along the underside of his cock has Peter groaning and snapping his hips forward. He begins to fuck Stiles’ mouth in earnest, enjoying the way Stiles grunts and moans in his grasp, and how his chin is entirely sloppy and dripping with spit and pre-come.

“You’re going to swallow it all down, Stiles,” Peter says, his annunciation crisp even though he’s got his cock shoved down Stiles’ mouth and his hips are shuddering against his face. “And you’re going to try so hard to take my knot. But it will keep your mouth open, held wide for me. And it will all dribble out onto your chin. I’m going to make such a mess of you.”

The humming noise of assent buzzes across Peter’s dick and he feels his knot swelling quickly as he watches Stiles’ jaw slide down in a painful-looking stretch. The thickness of his knot soon prevents him from thrusting and all he can do is push against Stiles’ mouth with desperate quick jabs. Stiles’ throat is fluttering around the head of his dick and when he swallows quickly Peter curses loudly and feels his orgasm rolling upward in a soft, red-hot wave. He clutches Stiles by the ears, his come spilling out in a rush, the knot pulsing, Stiles’ tongue warm. The waves slide over his skin, his mouth slackened with it, fingers tightening, digging into Stiles’ jaw forcefully.

“Your mouth, Stiles,” Peter groans as he heaves, hips stuttering, one final spurt that slides down the back of Stiles’ throat. He breathes in soft pants, his face relaxed with the laze of orgasm as he looks down at Stiles. Stiles looks ridiculously debauched beneath him, mouth stretched obscenely, lashes dark against his cheeks, and a flush riding high along his cheekbones. And Peter’s come leaking out from the corner of his lips. The mixture of come and spit dribbles downward, drips onto Stiles’ knees and Peter feels a twinge in his knot as he stares at how he’s marked Stiles, claimed him. He smiles and strokes a line along the moles on Stiles’ cheek, delighting in the way Stiles is making muffled grunts and huffing through his nose in order to breathe. 

“Beautiful,” Peter murmurs, pushing forward with his hips so Stiles has to shift backwards onto his feet to accommodate Peter’s movements. And this is Peter’s favorite part— watching Stiles helpless and flushed, bound to Peter and completely at his mercy. Stuffed full and wriggling, desperate to come and just reeking of need. But that will be later. Much later. For now there’s time to pet and stroke as Peter basks in the after-glow of orgasm and the way his come has painted his mate inside and out.


	17. Stilinskicest Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First time Stilinskicest, the Sheriff spanks his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Incest, daddy!kink.

"Come here, son,” John says, voice smooth and laced with exhaustion. He fixes Stiles with a glare that makes the boy jump three feet and tremble in his shoes. Stiles fidgets with the lace on his hoodie, staring down at the floor, unable to meet his dad’s eyes.

“Now,” John barks out, and the command makes Stiles jump forward and take several halting steps towards the man. The Sheriff is sitting on the couch in their living room, deathly still and tired features set into a frown. His hands rest on his beige pants and as Stiles draws near he looks down at them, fearful and wide-eyed. The hands look large, the fingers curling upward slightly, and Stiles can almost feel the spanks that he knows are coming.

Stiles’ dad has always been fond of corporal punishment. When he was growing up, Stiles was spanked for stealing from the cookie jar, and then again for lying about stealing from the cookie jar. He was spanked for talking out of turn and for not doing his chores. He was spanked for bad grades and for breaking the refrigerator door. But it was only last year that the spankings got a little more… difficult. Difficult for Stiles, anyways. The first time he’d gotten hard while bent over his dad’s knee, Stiles had flushed with absolute mortification. He’d wriggled around, trying to keep it from pressing against his dad’s leg, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t notice. John had said nothing though, just spanked him so soundly Stiles cried fat crocodile tears at the pain burning across his skin and the throbbing in his dick. And then John spanked him some more, firm and relentless. Stiles had zipped up his pants in a daze and stumbled back to his room, painfully hard and his thoughts a jumbled mess. He’d jerked off quickly, a haze of confusion and shame clouding his mind when he came, hot and sticky across his belly. Afterward he wondered how loud he’d been, and if his dad had heard. And the thought that he kind of wanted him to hear caused another thick wave of shame to sweep through his gut.

“Why do you have to be so difficult sometimes, Stiles?” John intones, bringing Stiles back to the present. It makes Stiles bite his lip. He doesn’t know, he tells himself. Though really, there’s a secret part of him that knows he does it just so he can ride his daddy’s knee and come thinking about his hands on him later.

“Come on, pants down. Up over my lap.”

Stiles stares for a minute, his normal motor-mouth slowed down to absolutely zero as the seconds tick by and his heart threatens to hop right out of his chest.

“Come on, Stiles,” John says, irritation edging into his tone. Stiles shuffles his feet and moves to unbutton his jeans, eyes down on the carpet. He tries to focus on the piece of lint resting by his dad’s shoes. They’re his work shoes; he hasn’t even changed since he got home.

“Look, Dad,” Stiles says as he reluctantly lowers the fly and pushes his pants down slightly over his hips. “Don’t you think I’m getting a little old for…” The words die on his lips as he sees his dad’s withering look. Stiles pushes his pants down all the way, letting them fall into a jumble at his knees and bends over quickly so he won’t have to see those eyes piercing into him. At least he’s not hard yet, his dick just a little interested. Being settled over his dad’s thighs doesn’t help matters at all, though.

John’s hand rests on Stiles’ back, making him jump. “Don’t you think your dad knows what’s best for you?”

Stiles dips his head forward, trying to hide his embarrassed flush. The first slap startles him and he lets out a surprised gasp, his hands flying up to grab against his dad’s thigh.

“Answer me, son,” the Sheriff says evenly as a second spank lands, jerking Stiles’ body forward.

“Yes,” Stiles breathes out, his breath leaving his lungs in a quick puff as another firm spank hits him squarely on the ass. His skin stings, the sharp pain making him pant, his dick fattening up in response to the stimuli.

“Yes, what?” John asks, his hand smoothing over Stiles’ ass while Stiles jumps at the unexpected sensation.

“Yes, Dad,” Stiles grits out between clamped teeth, trying hard to keep a moan tucked inside.

“Good boy.” There’s not much talking then, only the sound of the forceful slaps and Stiles’ muffled grunting. He twists his feet, trying to arch his hips away but each spank drives him forward, right against his dad’s leg.

The Sheriff is thorough, knowing exactly how to spank his kid, just how to make him cry. The spanks come quicker now, rougher, lifting Stiles up with each heavy blow. “That’s it, Stiles. Let it out. It’s okay. Your daddy’s got you.”

And Stiles just starts to sob at the words. He feels like he’s going to explode, like all of the blood in his entire body has pooled in his dick, like his skin might light on fire under his dad’s palm. The slaps grow lighter now but it doesn’t even matter, he’s so oversensitive.

“Please,” Stiles finally whispers, and the spanking stops immediately. He buries his face in his arms, his tears burning his eyes and dripping down. He can taste them on his lips, taste the salt, feels the marks from his dad’s hands all over him. The pain feels good, too good, his wet dick bobbing against his dad’s work pants, and his shame now a gigantic puddle that he just wants to just wallow and drown in.

John’s hands pull on Stiles’ hips gently and he takes the hint and eases off, reaching down quickly to try and pull his pants up to hide how achingly hard and dripping his cock is.

“You’ve been such a good boy,” John says, and Stiles feels his dick squeeze out a tiny bit of pre-come at the praise. He knows his dad can’t mean what he thinks he means. Stiles struggles to pull his pants up all the way, turning sideways to hide himself from view.

He feels his dad behind him, close, so close he can feel the warm breath on his ear. He pushes Stiles gently forward, slow steps until they reach the kitchen table and Stiles has to put his hands out quickly to prevent a sudden fall forward. Large hands search along Stiles’ stomach, running tentatively over the quivering muscles while Stiles grinds back without any conscious thought.

“Please, Dad,” he mewls out, desire winning over the embarrassment. “Please.”

His dad is always so good to him, always takes care of him. Always gives him exactly what he needs. The hands are hesitant at his waistband, but Stiles reaches down and wraps his fingers around them, pushes until his pants are down around his knees once more. His ass stings, the skin must be beet-red, and when Stiles feels something wet against him— something wet and hard and oh god that’s his dad’s dick— he stiffens his body completely.

“Dad, dad, daddy, pleasepleaseplease daddy,” Stiles begins to chant as his dad starts to trail his fingers over Stiles’ clenching hole, slowly working one finger inside. Stiles is absolutely dripping now, his pre-come making a mess onto the table. The table where he does his homework. The table where he serves his dad over-easy eggs and toast. The table where his dad is currently fingering him after spanking his ass raw.

“Shhhh, I’ve got you son,” he whispers right into the base of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles squeezes his eyes tight as he feels an orgasm rolling up from his belly all too soon.


	18. Sterek bite mark tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek discovers that Stiles has a tattoo out of their wolves’ teeth impressions around his hip. Post Season 3B feels.

The smell of Stiles is different when he enters the loft, and he doesn’t curl his body around Derek like he used to do.  Instead he gingerly sits down on the couch, plucking off his shoes and pulling out a textbook while Derek just watches.

“What?” Stiles says, quirking an eyebrow at the wolf as he sits at the kitchen table, soda in hand.  Derek returns the eyebrow raise; he can win that game.  He invented that game.  Stiles shrugs without much fight and returns his eyes back to the book, his hands skimming over the page. As Derek watches him he wonders at how tired the teenager looks.  He probably hasn’t gotten a haircut in months and the dark lines around his eyes still linger, the sunken look of pain still etched in the fine lines of his lips.  He may have healed physically from his near-death experience with the Nogitsune, but he still looks small, lost, tired.

Derek lets him be, knowing that Stiles will talk when he wants to talk and only then.  He used to be so chatty and animated and full of life, but now…  Now they just sit in silence most of the time and Derek can’t say that he really minds.  Stiles needs him and it feels good to be needed, even if it’s just to be a calming presence.  Stiles has been his anchor so many times that Derek is glad to play the part.  More than glad, really.

He settles down on the couch, smiling when Stiles shifts to put his feet onto Derek’s lap.  He’s wearing mismatched socks and there’s a hole in one of them which makes Derek warm a little inwardly.  He tickles his finger right against Stiles’ toe and the quick yelp of laughter and swinging of legs brings the scent of something different and wrong to the forefront once more.  Derek immediately grasps Stiles’ ankle with his hand, pinning the boy down so he can’t get away from his gaze.

_Are you alright_ , Derek wants to ask, but he knows that’s the wrong question.  So instead he says, “Something’s different.”

Stiles tugs his foot away, curling up into a ball and making a slight wincing motion that has Derek clenching his fists with something akin to anger.  

“I’m fine,” Stiles says for the millionth time, and he moves his legs underneath himself to get more comfortable.  “Stop worrying about me.”  There’s some warmth in the tone though, and Derek lets his fingers relax by sheer force of will.

“You smell like blood.”

Stiles freezes and Derek wonders why; clearly, he should know by now just how keen a werewolf’s sense of smell is.  He shifts his book over his lap and doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes— a bad sign that makes Derek’s heart sink into his stomach like a gigantic rock.

“It’s nothing,” Stiles says as he casts his eyes to the floor.  “Don’t worry about it.”

_It’s my job to worry about you_ , Derek wants to say.  _If someone has hurt you I will rip out their throat_ , he wants to roar.  Instead he leans forward and pulls Stiles’ chin up, forcing him to meet his stare.  The amber-brown eyes look slightly blood-shot and oh so tired, and Derek’s anger melts into a fierce protectiveness.  He glances down to where Stiles is favoring his left side and sees the peek of a white bandage above his jeans.  Derek lets his fingers glide down, playing with the tape at the edge before peeling it down slightly.

Stiles winces with the movement but lifts his hips up so Derek can slide down the jeans and pull off the remainder of the bandage.  When he sees what’s beneath Derek has to pull away, flabbergasted.  Below is red, shiny flesh, surrounding a half-circle of black ink that is clearly a set of teeth.  Derek immediately recognizes the pointy incisors.  The tattoo looks fresh, the skin angry, the black outlines dark and vivid.

“See, this is why I didn’t want to show you,” Stiles grumbles as he tries to hike his jeans back up.  Derek prevents him easily, staring between the likeness of his own bite mark imprinted on Stiles’ hip and the way Stiles is looking embarrassed and afraid.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asks, his thumb tracing along the edge of red skin while Stiles twitches in near-pain.

“I— I didn’t know if I was ready to talk about it yet.  It’s a mark of my survival.”

“The bite,” Derek nods, his tongue gliding along his teeth and feeling the smooth points that have ripped into flesh too many times.

“Why not Scott’s bite?  He was the one who bit … you… after all.”  Derek looks uncomfortable, never one to discuss his feelings.  And Stiles had been so reticent lately that it hasn’t helped matters.

“You’re my wolf,” Stiles says, turning to grab Derek by the wrist and stop his wandering fingers.  “If anyone is going to bite me, it’s you.”

“I bite you all the time,” Derek grumbles, and Stiles lets out a quick laugh that is so like the old Stiles that it makes Derek light up with a small smile.

“And now I’m marked by you.”

Stiles pulls Derek into a full kiss, their lips parting softly, the slide of their tongues so achingly familiar and foreign all at once.  They part and Derek pulls Stiles onto his lap, careful not to touch the fresh tattoo but running his fingers all around the wet outline.  He stares at it until Stiles pulls him up by the chin to look him in the eyes, and there’s more conviction there this time, more fire, more purpose.

“I’m alive, Derek.  We’re alive.”

The kiss turns heated, desperate, sloppy and Derek’s ears zero in to the steadily rushing thump thump thump of Stiles’ heart.  The drumbeat is warm against his chest, Stiles pliant in his arms, and  _yes_ , he thinks.   _Yes, you’re alive._


	19. Halinskicest Watersports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halinskicest watersports, Peter and Derek marking Stiles as pack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was something I'd never write and now, here I am. :D

The dirt is cool against his cheek, and Stiles kind of can’t believe that he’s let Peter bend him over and fuck him right on the ground while Derek watches with glowing yellow eyes.  They’d taken him ‘out back’ as Peter liked to call it, and Stiles had barely resisted when Derek had put two heavy hands on his shoulders to force him down to his knees.  And he’d even purred when Derek’s come spurted warmly onto his eyelids and nose, dripping down in thick droplets to cover his face.

Derek’s come has dried now, Peter filling him up with more as his claws bite down into the soft flesh of Stiles’ hips.  Stiles moans into the dried leaves, his body pushed down with Peter’s heavy weight, the sensation of being filled to the brim and  _marked_  burning along his tender insides.  Peter pulls out with no finesse, just lets the come drip out as Stiles lies completely still save for the heavy panting.  He feels like there’s so much of it, too much, like he’s full all the way up to his stomach and yet it still slides outward, sticky and wet and uncomfortable.

“Roll over,” Derek says, and his voice is deep and commanding, still that of an Alpha.  Stiles obeys wordlessly, the shiny luster of the full moon illuminating the red marks on his body and the dried flecks of Derek’s come on his hands and chest.

Peter is standing now, cock slowly softening, a fine sweat covering his chest and thighs.  The two wolves look down at him and Stiles feels his body twitch and writhe, his ass clenching on nothing, the come slick at his puffy red hole, his hands grasping at the ground for something, anything to hold on to.  His body thrums, teetering right on the edge of painful as his cock throbs and his balls ache, heavy, desperate to be emptied.

“Look at you, squirming on the ground, covered in our come,” Peter says in that overly-pleased-with-himself tone.

“Do you want to be dirty, Stiles?”  Derek asks.  The pair look huge above him, their faces obscured by the dark shadows, the light of the moon washing out everything behind them.

Stiles nods fervently, his fingers digging into the soil, the spongy wetness grinding into the space under his fingernails.

“Mark me,” Stiles whispers softly, his voice hitching.

He shudders as he feels the first splash warm on his stomach.  It’s so much more slippery than come, the smell sweet even to his own human nose.  His body grows rigid as the stream slides down to splash against his cock.  The sensation is so liquid, so wrong, and he brings his hand up to jerk himself off in a quick, punishing rhythm.  He lets his eyes flutter, his lashes clumped with their come, his body covered in semen and dirt and piss.  It’s disgusting, it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever done, but he throws his head back and just rolls in it, rolls in the filth.  

Derek finishes, the stream trickling off, and Stiles gives one exhausted grunt before stiffening and spurting out onto his own stomach.  He feels wet, soaked, dripping.  Owned.

“Mine,” Peter says succinctly, claws out and eyes bright.

“Pack,” Derek says, and the words sound the exact same to Stiles’ ears.


	20. Halinskicest Tied up Bottom!Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Halinskicest with body worship and Derek tied up and Stiles and Peter just taking their sweet time with him please and thanks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek/Peter/Stiles - warnings: incest, breath play, bondage, bottom!derek. For Hale-Bate.

They watched as Derek shifted in his bonds, the muscles sliding right beneath the skin, all power and strength barely held at bay.  It made Stiles feel breathy and warm, watching Derek’s skin tighten beneath his fingertips.  Watching the large body shuddering as Stiles applied his tongue at just the right pressure.  He flicked and sucked, making one dusky nipple tighten, sucking it in between his teeth and hearing Derek’s sounds slowly becoming less like a complaint and more like an involuntary sigh.

And Peter.  Stiles could only guess what watching Derek tied up and at his mercy did to the man.  He preferred to let Stiles do most of the work, let him bend over Derek’s body and just worship him while Peter sat back on his haunches and licked his fangs.  Sometimes he would give out succinct directions.  “Harder.”  “Spread him wider.”  “Push with your hips.”  “Make it hurt.”  Sometimes he would lean over Derek and whisper in his ear something that Stiles wasn’t privy to, while Stiles kneeled down and let Derek fuck his face.

But tonight was about patience and drawing out each flick of the tongue and sharp nip until Derek welled with fat tears and flat out begged.  Stiles slid his body lower, dragging his wet cock along Derek’s stomach, watching the way his pre-come painted the wolf’s muscled abdomen with a clear, sticky trail.  Stiles followed with his mouth, nipping with his teeth and wetting the dark hair as he made his way downward.  He bypassed Derek’s cock entirely, loving the way the powerful hips bucked upward while Peter pressed down lightly on Derek’s shoulders, keeping him in place.

“Not yet,” Peter murmured, claws out.  He tapped them along Derek’s skin, taut along his shoulder blades, and watched him throw his head back and suck in a breath.  Peter dragged the tip of one claw up along Derek’s throat, skimming over his bobbing adam’s apple and pushing upward into the soft chin, tilting him up further.  Their eyes met, Derek’s flashing a vivid blue before being squeezed shut as Stiles licked right against his inner-most skin, trying to ease inside with difficulty.

Peter held Derek pinned with just the pressure of his claws, Derek’s entire body tightening as Stiles wriggled his tongue inward.  He made sloppy licks and hummed happily, his nose brushing against the base of Derek’s balls as Derek pulled his legs back and planted his feet flat on the mattress.

“So gorgeous,” Peter said with a sticky sweet smile, shifting his grip so the points dug anew into Derek’s tender flesh.  Derek’s body strained in confusion between the opposing sensations, his cock heavy against his stomach, his whole body wet and soaked with Stiles’ spit.  

“Please,” Derek whispered, lashes wet and lips parted and shiny.  He closed his eyes as he felt the tip of Stiles’ cock push up bluntly against him while Peter’s hand slipped further down his throat and simply squeezed.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter calls Stiles his bitch and tells him to present/ keep his ass up high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For zoeteniets. Warnings: Humiliation, spanking, (talk of) knotting.

A sharp slap to his ass has Stiles startling out of his half-sleep and squinting, the room around him dark enough that he can’t quite make out anything more than the vague shape hovering over him ominously.  He rubs at his eyes and rolls over halfway, groaning at the knee that is suddenly painful in his side.

“Jesus, Peter.  It’s a school night,” Stiles slurs, turning his head into his pillow and hoping the man will just go away.  Fat chance he knows, but his head is fuzzy from the lack of sleep and it is two in the morning after all.  Maybe Peter will have mercy on his tired ass for once.  Stiles snorts into the sheets knowing that will never be true, and then lets out a grunt as Peter digs his knee in further.

“Since when do I care about that?” Peter says with perfectly articulated consonants, the snarl just barely hidden behind his clenched teeth.  

Stiles can feel the slight rash of heat traveling down his spine already, hating himself a little.  He knows Peter can smell it on him.  “I almost forgot how much of an asshole you are.”  Stiles rolls over anyways, too tired to put up much of a fight.

“I almost forgot how much of a cockslut you are,” Peter quips back.  He deftly pulls down Stiles’ pajama pants, dragging them downward just enough to reveal the smooth curve of his ass.  Stiles squirms a bit against the sheets, his suddenly hard dick caught in his boxers and pushed heavily down into the mattress with his weight.  It’s still too dark to see very much, but he glances back at Peter with a scowl, the electric blue of the wolf’s eyes a stark contrast to the blackness.

Stiles wriggles, tries to spread his legs, and huffs when he can’t.  He can hear the quiet whisper of cloth, the teeth of a zipper being lowered, the slight creak of his mattress as their weight shifts.  He feels a tiny bit of pre-come squeeze out, the anticipation making him buzz.  Peter’s grin is practically audible.

“Getting wet for me already?  Filthy little slut.  Just like a bitch in heat.  Look at you humping the bed, gagging for it.  Won’t you beg for me, Stiles?  I’ll only do it if you say pretty please.”

Stiles grits his teeth and slides his hands up near his head to grip into the covers.  He’s not going to beg.  Not yet, anyways.  “Fuck you.”  But he pushes his hips upward, the tide of desperation slowly rising through his blood.

A forceful slap sounds out loudly, the sting shooting across Stiles’ skin and jolting straight to his cock.  His ass smarts and he feels himself bowing his back, pushing backwards, seeking out more.

“See?  Naughty little slut.  Arching back for more.  Do you want more, Stiles?”

Stiles gives up speaking, just makes muffled grunts as Peter doesn’t wait and just spanks him again and again.  His hand is huge, unforgiving, hot like a brand, making him burn.

“Come on.  Put that ass up high.  Forehead to the bed.  Moan like you mean it, boy.”

It’s not even a conscious thought— Stiles just does it.  He tries to spread his legs again and lets out a whimper, his dick pulsing in his pants, shoulders stretching as his back lengthens.

“Look at how sweet your tight little hole is, Stiles.  Opening up to me.  Just desperate to get mounted, fucked, pounded.  Knotted.”  Peter reaches beneath Stiles and for one fleeting moment he thinks he’s going to get sweet relief and a fist wrapped around his cock.  But instead Peter’s hand skates up, flicks against his nipple before squeezing it tight between blunt fingernails.  Stiles bites his lip hard to keep from groaning out too loudly, and the sound that escapes is more of a broken whimper than anything else.

There’s silence and then another hard spank, right across the fleshy part of Stiles’ ass.  Then Stiles feels his cheeks being parted, and a shock of cool air being blown right across the twitching hole.  It makes his whole body shudder and jerk, and Peter laughs before sinking a fingertip right inside without any warning.  It glides in, and Peter at least had the decency to be generous with the lubricant.  He searches quickly, pushing down and rubbing in a tight circle in just the right spot to have Stiles keening, his thighs beginning to shake.

“Do you want to be mounted, little bitch in heat?”  

Stiles’ face burns with shame, but he nods anyways, eyes pressed tight.

“What’s the magic word?”

Peter’s fingers are merciless, knowing just how to play him, and Stiles feels salty tears welling up.  “You fucking bastard.”

It just makes Peter laugh, though, and slide in a second finger.  “Tell me now.  And ask nicely.  Before I tie up your little cock and make you ride my fingers til you’re screaming.  Or maybe I’ll turn you loose, out in the woods.  Bind your hands and feet and just let any wolf who smells your slutty wet hole come and fuck you, knot you.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  Don’t you want to be held down in the dirt by all their hands?  Don’t you want to be covered with come, inside and out?”

The pressure is too much, his skin buzzing with it, and Stiles prays he doesn’t come right then or Peter will throw a hissy fit and devise an even more imaginative punishment.  “Please,” Stiles whispers, and the fingers are withdrawn immediately to be replaced by the blunt head of Peter’s cock.

“Pretty please,” Peter prompts, pushing forward just enough so the rim of Stiles’ muscles clench and flutter.

Stiles swallows thickly, his heart pounding like he’s just run a marathon.  The words almost stick in his throat but he finally chokes out, “Pretty please, Peter.”  And then Peter just shoves in and it burns, it fucking burns, and Stiles growls out like he’s some kind of goddamn animal.  And he hates Peter for it, for the way he wants it, needs it, craves it.  He pushes back until they’re sealed tight.

“Filthy slut,” Peter coos as he inches in the last little bit, and the words sound like a sweet endearment to Stiles’ ears.


	22. Argentcest plus Scott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris fucks Scott while Allison watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Incest.

Her daddy looked so gorgeous, skin flushed, chest rising and falling, the light gray smattering of chest hair dampened slightly with sweat.  And his hands, so skilled, so powerful, resting splayed over Scott’s trembling back as he kneeled up behind him.  He fucked upwards with his hips, making Scott mewl and twitch, and pulling a heavy exhale from Allison’s pink lips as she watched.

“Put your back into it.  He can take it.  Come on, Daddy,” Allison purred, sliding up against her dad’s back.  His skin was warm, almost sticky, and she dragged her naked breasts against him, relishing in the delicious friction.  He rocked back into her and she inched closer, spreading her knees wide and rolling her whole body forward.  Her hands traveled up his ribs, over his broad shoulders, squeezing the flexing muscles of his bicep and resting there as she felt him move beneath her hands.  Contract, release— an endless, wordless rhythm as he grunted out and tilted his head sideways to rub against her cheek.  His stubble was soft, tickling, and she nuzzled forward, loving it.  She’d always enjoyed the bristly feeling when he used to tuck her in at night and give her a brief kiss on the forehead.  And now she loved it scratching against her lips, her tongue, her thighs.

She was wet and aching, not touching herself on purpose, just because she wanted her daddy to wind her up first before sliding his fingers inside.  A choked out sob made Allison remember to open her eyes, and she blinked down at Scott spread out beneath her father.  His toned back was arched downward in a lovely curve, chest pressed to the bed, head buried between his arms.  Allison had seen him flushed and trembling so many times, but never quite like this, ass up, taking her daddy’s cock without hardly any protest.  Chris grabbed at his hips, pulling the boy upward and moving back into Allison at the same time, making the three of them groan in tandem.

Chris cocked his head sideways again, eyes drooping down with pleasure, looking at Allison’s soft lips as she licked at them.  “Are you my good little girl?” Chris asked, slowing his hips and dipping his head forward to nose along Allison’s jaw.  She shifted around him so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck as much, rubbing into the stubbled cheek and pressing light kisses all the way to his ear.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He smiled at her lightly, removing one hand from Scott’s hip to caress her shoulder and skate down to pinch a tight little nipple.  It made Allison frown and bite her lip, and she spread her legs wider, pushing her wet pussy right against her daddy’s thigh.

“Do you like watching your daddy fuck your boyfriend?”

Allison guided his fingers down further, turning his hand so it lay flat against her stomach.  He slid down the rest of the way on his own, fingering against the light patch of hair before slipping down to flick against her throbbing clit.

“Yes,” she breathed out, her voice sounding soft and strained at the same time.

Chris smiled, the lines of his face softening as he watched Allison carefully.  He slid his hand down further, one finger running along the edges of Allison’s swollen folds before pressing up inside.  He pushed his palm into her clit as he drove his finger upward into her, making her buck her hips against him.  “Because that doesn’t really sound like a thing good girl do.”  But his tone was teasing and Allison laughed, a breathless light little thing.

“I’m so good for you, Daddy,” she promised, leaning forward to brush her lips gently against his before pulling away and resting her forehead on his shoulder.  He gripped Scott around the waist again, thrusting in slow, working into a deep, easy rhythm.  Each snap of strong hips had Scott moaning out Allison’s name in a confused voice and it was only minutes before Allison was growing hot all over and coming hard, clenching down on the three fingers her daddy had pushed inside of her and grinding into the heel of his palm.


	23. Daddy!Derek with a broom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy!Derek fucks Stiles with a broom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Daddy kink, object insertion, mention of spanking.

The counter creaks as Stiles pushes his weight forward onto his forearms, bowing his head.  He spreads his legs further, cock warm and heavy between his legs, the cool air of the kitchen licking against his naked skin.  It makes him shiver, makes his arms raise up into goosebumps as he waits.

He can hear Derek breathing behind him, smooth and even, each exhale making Stiles’ nerves buzz.  

“What were my instructions, baby boy?”

Stiles’ cock throbs at the words, his eyes squeezed shut, body tightening up.  Sometimes Derek warms him up first, spanks him until he’s pink and crying.  Sometimes he just pushes Stiles down by the neck and slides his cock forward, forcing his way inside.  It’s the not knowing that makes Stiles shudder.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”  

Stiles can feel his body straining into Derek’s touch, so close, the whisper of air brushing against the small of his back.

“To finish my chores, Daddy.”

He can hear Derek purr deep in his chest, and Stiles curves his back in a deep bow response.

“And did you finish?”

A bit of fear trickling into his stomach, and Stiles buries his head in his forearms.  He shifts on his feet, the linoleum cold beneath his toes.  “No.”

Derek waits.

“No, Daddy.”

There’s a slight hum of disapproval and then something taps Stiles on the hip.  It’s smooth and dense, and Stiles puzzles for a moment behind his eyelids, not recognizing one of their usual toys.  The rounded edge slides over the curve of his ass, gentle and slow.  Stiles arches into it, feeling the mewl catch on the back of his teeth as Derek moves the object downward.

“No,” Derek says, closer now, breath warm on Stiles’ back.  “Instead I come home to you licking a spoon like you wished it was a cock, lapping against it with that wicked little tongue, your cock hard and naked between your legs.  Were you hoping I would fuck you when I got home, baby boy?  Were you hoping I would forget how naughty you were and just bury my cock in you?”  Derek moves the polished wood downward, slipping in between the cheeks of Stiles’ ass and dipping against his tightly clenched hole before sliding down to tap at his smooth balls.  

_The broom_ , Stiles realizes, cheeks heating up as Derek pushes the tip of it along the length of Stiles’ leaking cock before it falls heavily to the side.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Stiles whispers, fingers digging into the countertop.  Derek’s left just the apron on him, and Stiles can feel the strings slide against his sides, making him feel even more naked.

“Have you been a naughty boy, Stiles?”  The broom’s tip moves upward, bumping into the very center of Stiles and nudging inward while he lets out a tiny groan.

“Yes, Daddy.  I’m sorry, Daddy.”

A disappointed sigh comes from Derek, and it makes Stiles’ stomach curl, the desire to please tangible on his tongue.

“What do naughty boys get?”

The broom pushes in more, firm and thin, and Stiles flushes a burning red from cheekbones to neck.

“Punished,” Stiles murmurs, and the answer is familiar on his lips.  

Derek feeds in the handle further, Stiles reaching up on his tiptoes as it just goes on and on and on until he thinks he can’t take any more but still it goes.  He can feel each muscle quiver as he waits, as he takes what Derek gives him, as he keens for his Daddy.

“Please.”  It’s a soft whisper into his arms, and Stiles feels tight as a bow.  Every fiber of his being is focused on the point of his body where Derek has him speared on the broom, lifting him up, his lashes growing wet and soft.  “Please, Daddy,” he repeats, and when Derek starts to ease the broom out and then fucks forward lightly, Stiles lets out a breathy, relieved sigh.

“Thank you, Daddy.”


	24. Stiles' birthday/Stripper!Derek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Stiles' twenty-first birthday and either that's a super hot cop or his friend's hired him a stripper. (Hint: They hired him a stripper.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the lovely [thatworldinverted](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com)'s birthday!

“We’ve received several calls about a noise disturbance in the area.”

Stiles’ jaw hung open at the hinges, eyes flicking over to Erica and then to Scott and Isaac and then back to the absurdly hot cop standing in his apartment doorway.  The hot cop with a scruffy beard and enough muscles to look like he could rip the door right off the hinges or maybe hold Stiles up by just his hips and give him a real thorough fucking.

“No.  Noooo.  You didn’t?  Did you.  No, you didn’t.”  Stiles laughed maniacally for a moment, age at least giving him the presence of mind to not just blurt out all of his inappropriate thoughts.  “But no, did you?”

Someone lowered the volume of the thumping music, the bass still deep enough to thrum beneath their feet through the cheap laminate flooring.  The cop looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and  _damn_  he really had that angry, get-you-to-confess death-look down pat.  Stiles swallowed hard, Little Stiles calming down slowly in his pants as he began to wonder if he was actually about to be fined on his twenty-first birthday.  By a super hot cop.

“Um, I’m sorry, Officer?”  He kind of trailed off at the end of the sentence, making it sound insincere though he was really just god-awful nervous.  And Erica and Lydia’s giggles behind him were really not helping anything.

The man pushed his way through the door frame, and Stiles kind of thought  _Hey, what about my civil liberties!_ which was quickly derailed by  _I’d like my civil liberties to be violated, yes please, Officer Hot Stuff._ Which made him flush red as a cherry and step backwards through the two feet of the foyer and into the tiny living room.

“It’s Officer Hale,” the cop said gruffly, and Stiles kind of melted as the man took one step closer, hand sliding down to his belt and unhooking a pair of very real-looking handcuffs.  He raised them up to Stiles’ nose, the sudden smirking grin making his face look ten times more attractive which Stiles didn’t even think was humanly possible.

“Oh,” Stiles squeaked, forgetting everyone else in the room.  Cause that meant stripper and not arrested, right?  He gulped, not really trusting himself given the close proximity of the hottest man he’d ever seen and also that fourth beer that had gone down just a little too easily.

“Have you been a naughty birthday boy?”

Stiles let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a balloon deflating than a mostly-adult male in full control of his mental faculties.

“Yes!  Yes he has!” Lydia called out, suddenly behind Stiles and wrapping well-manicured nails around his shoulders.  She guided him to a chair that had been pulled to the center of the room, plopping him down and giving him a little pat on the head.  

Officer Hale grinned again, an evil, dark, gorgeous thing that showed his white, white teeth like a predator.  He stalked forward, leaning into Stiles’ personal space and sliding his palms down Stiles’ arms to grasp his wrists with huge, paw-like hands.  He held them loosely, pulling them back around the chair and cuffing them efficiently while Stiles gaped and squirmed on his seat.  There was enough slack that he wasn’t pulled too tight, but it drew his shoulders back and made him instantly spread his legs in some type of unconscious stimulus-response reaction.

“Oh  _god_ ,” Stiles muttered under his breath as the man in front of him began unbuttoning his shirt and revealed pale skin with dark chest hair curled against it neatly.  There was a flash of a nipple, pink and peaked, and Stiles shifted on the chair as blood funneled rapidly to his cock and flushed red-hot across his cheeks.  

The music was back up, laughter and catcalls coming from behind as the “Officer” slowly peeled off his shirt and swiveled his hips in a way that made Stiles’ mouth go completely dry.

“Lydia, I’m going to kill you,” Stiles said in a strangled voice as the man stepped wide so his thighs were bracketing Stiles’ on the chair, sinking down lower and grinding a very hard cock right against Stiles.  Stiles moaned out in complete embarrassment as his friends cheered them on, fingers itching to touch and wrists twitching in the cuffs.

“You’re welcome, Stiles,” Lydia said sweetly, and Stiles didn’t really have it in him to argue with her.


	25. cheerleader!stiles wears lingerie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterek - Stiles goes to college, joins the cheerleading squad, and wears a [new outfit](https://xdress.com/product/view/lace-me-up-buttercup-x9550).

It had been half a joke and half a dare, but Stiles was totally on the college cheerleading squad now.  Apparently they were desperate for guys to be on the team as he only had to do a half-hearted tryout and a few push-ups before they were slapping him with a uniform and giving him tips on how to work out on the Smith machine.  They’d also given him a list of cheerleading stunt terms and he now had to practice five days a week, which was  _more than lacrosse practiced, jesus_ , but it was all kind of worth it to hear Derek’s voice get gruff when he called home to say he was on the cheerleading team.

A month into it and Stiles had some new biceps and some very nice female friends, and being a cheerleader was  _awesome_.  Stiles posted some pictures on FaceBook, thinking he looked kind of good with his newly buzzed hair and his arms crossed, plus one particularly hard stunt he was working on involving a basket toss, and okay, maybe Stiles was actually kind of good at this.  Plus Cora had told him Derek stared at the pictures on a daily basis, so that kind of stroked his ego, too.

It was only two weeks later when Derek was actually at his door with some type of flimsy excuse about visiting Scott on pack business which was a total lie—Scott had gone to visit Allison for the weekend and Stiles had the room all to himself.  And talk about serendipitous events.  

“I was just on my way to practice,” Stiles said, waving at his track pants and tight t-shirt, both in the powder blue and gold school colors.  When Derek looked disappointed, Stiles quickly added, “Do you want to come?”

They totally made out under the bleachers after practice, and Stiles felt like a ridiculous high schooler, especially when they got caught with Derek’s hand down his track pants by one of the groundskeepers.  Derek looked redder than Stiles, and they giggled their way back to his dorm, Stiles unable to keep his hands off Derek’s ass now that he had felt it once.

“I didn’t know you were so into cheerleaders,” Stiles breathed into Derek’s neck after they had made it past the threshold and into his tiny room.  They kissed against the back of the door, Derek peeling him out of his clothes as quickly as possible before sinking to his knees and pressing his lips to the outline of Stiles’ cock in his sweaty, white briefs.  He pulled the tip out and and tongued at the slit, making Stiles roll his eyes back and bang his head against the wall.

They made their way over to the bed, Stiles’ pants caught around his ankles and Derek shoving him down face first so he could plaster his body against Stiles’ back and press his dry fingers to Stiles’ hole.

“It’s not a cheerleader thing,” he said as he pushed in, Stiles grunting at the rough slide inside, clenching and then relaxing when Derek’s finger wriggled and stretched.  “It’s a you thing.”

He said it so quietly that Stiles could barely hear him, but Derek Hale had actually said it.

“You like me, don’t you,” Stiles said with a huge grin, gathering his hands next to his face and pushing up onto his knees so he could present himself more fully to Derek.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said louder this time, reaching for the lube Stiles kept on his bedside table— _what, Scott was gone for the weekend_ —and squirting a glob right inside.  Stiles stilled as the cool liquid filled him up and was silent for once when Derek slid in, slow and smooth, and much bigger than Stiles had ever thought of when he’d dared to imagine.

***

It didn’t take long to figure out that Derek had sort of a sports kink, and liked it when Stiles sent him pictures of him in his jock strap, or with his uniform shirt on, pulled up to his nipples and fucking himself on three fingers.  It kind of sucked that Derek was two hours away, even with his manic driving speed, but it worked for them.  They made it work.

So when Stiles was at the one sex shop in town looking for a new dildo and he happened upon the costumes section, he decided to look just for funsies.  He held up a few items, knowing most were meant for women, but his face flushed when he saw the pink skirt and matching thigh highs.  It wasn’t exactly a  _cheerleading_  outfit, but it was pretty close.  He was certain Derek wouldn’t really mind.

He bought the outfit and some expensive flavored lube just for the occassion, and by the time he was home he was already half-hard in his pants.  Scott had sexiled himself because he knew Derek was coming to visit for the weekend, so Stiles had the afternoon to stretch himself open and then pull on the outfit.  He did the lace stockings first, pulling them up over his toes and long calves, the stretch of them clinging to his thighs and making his knees look less knobby and kind of sexy for once.  There were bright pink criss-crosses laced up the back of them, and Stiles pushed up on his toes, watching the way his calf-muscles were accentuated.

Next were the black lacy panties, tight and soft on his skin, pressing his cock to his stomach, and not quite big enough to cover everything.  He was wet already at the tip of his cock, and he swiped his thumb through the precome, watching himself in the full length mirror on his closet door and then pulling up the pink plaid skirt.  The whole ensemble made him look a little younger, and he felt naughty and nervous, the lube slicking out between his cheeks and making him sticky.

_Hurry up_ , Stiles texted Derek, and it was only about ten more minutes before Derek was barreling through the door and crowding Stiles up against his bed, seeming to freeze when he felt lace beneath his finger rather than Stiles’ usual cotton underwear.  He pulled back and raised an eyebrow, and Stiles held his breath, waiting for the reaction.

Derek seemed stiff all over, his face red and head tipped up slightly as he swallowed.  He sat back on Stiles’ bed and held him an arms length away, sweeping his hooded eyes down to the lace stockings and then back up and over the skirt, Stiles’ lightly hairy stomach, and up to his pink, pert nipples.

“Show me everything,” Derek said, and his voice was about an octave lower than Stiles had ever heard it.  Stiles lost a bit of his bravado as he stepped backward, a shaking hand skating over his body, pinching a nipple before sliding down and rubbing over his cock that was lifting up the skirt.  “Do you have on pretty panties, too, baby?”

Stiles nodded mutely, letting his hand slide beneath the hem of the skirt and picking it up slightly, rubbing his palm against his length and feeling a spurt of precome ooze out at Derek’s hard gaze.

“Turn around.  Bend over.”

Stiles obeyed wordlessly, his breath caught in his throat as he heard Derek shifting on the bed, dying for him to come over and _touch_ , but he didn’t.  Stiles leaned over his wooden chair, folding his hands up on the back of it and resting his chin there, the skirt short enough that it put everything on display for Derek.  He could hear Derek breathing hard, fabric rustling as he was—hopefully—undressing, and then Derek was warm behind him, hands flipping up the silk of the skirt, rubbing over his thighs, his knuckles just brushing against the base of Stiles’ balls.  The panties weren’t quite enough to cover him, and the little touches of skin to skin made Stiles jolt with electricity.

Derek turned his hand over and palmed Stiles roughly, his thumb rubbing against Stiles’ hole through the black lace, making him mewl.  “Are your panties all wet for me, baby?” he asked, pushing in a little bit before slipping the panties to the side and pressing his thumb right in.  Stiles was so slick that he just popped in, and he moaned as Derek rubbed downward, his other hand sneaking under the skirt and pushing up at Stiles’ leaking cock.

“Got myself ready,” Stiles gasped out, whimpering when Derek withdrew his thumb.  He let out a high-pitched squeal when Derek replaced his thumb with the head of his cock, and Stiles was so loose and ready that he just slipped in, just the tip stretching him out deliciously.

“Good boy,” Derek said as he fucked inward with slow strokes until he was fully seated inside, balls pressed up tight to the lace of Stiles’ panties.  It pulled the fabric tight over him, and Stiles danced slightly on his feet, the stockings rubbing up against Derek’s hairy legs, his whole body on sensation overload.

“Hold still for me, baby,” Derek murmured as he held Stiles firmly by the hips and fucked into his body with tight, controlled strokes.  Stiles gripped the chair hard, tilting up on his toes with each thrust, the angle so tight and Derek so rough against him that it was a ridiculously short time later that he was tensing up and coming, ruining the silk of the skirt, his come dripping down the panties and onto his thighs.

Derek just grunted and pulled Stiles like a ragdoll onto his little twin bed.  He flipped the skirt back up over his ass and plunged back inside, fucking into Stiles’ over-sensitive body until Stiles was on the verge of tears and clawing at his sheets.  Derek shuddered into an orgasm, pulling out at the last moment and painting Stiles’ legs and panties with thick lines of come, warm on his sweaty skin.  Stiles felt hot all over, the come covering him on both sides, body buzzing and dirty and wonderfully  _used_.

They spooned up, Stiles fighting to shimmy out of the ruined skirt, but Derek’s heavy arms were trapping him down to the bed.

“I’m gross,” Stiles whined, grabbing Derek’s hand and pushing it down under the skirt so he could feel his sticky skin and the sipping, clinging fabric.  Derek curled his hand around Stiles’ mostly-soft cock, purring like a giant cat.

“Yeah.”

Stiles huffed a laugh, squirming in Derek’s grip and then wriggling back against him.  “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I’m making you dress up like a football player next time.”

Derek laughed heartily, finally letting Stiles wiggle out of the soiled clothes and flop down next to him.  “I might have my old basketball uniform somewhere.”

Stiles eyes lit up with glee and he leaned over to kiss Derek fully on the lips, the first time that evening.  Derek closed his arms around him, their bodies sticking together with sweat and drying come.

“Fuck yeah.  It’s a date.”  


	26. Derek is hard to shop for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sterek - Stiles tries to find a suitable gift for their one year anniversary.

“Derek is like the worst person to shop for ever,” Stiles complains as he plops onto Scott’s bed and falls back against his pillows. “What do you buy a guy who owns one pair of jeans, one cup and one bowl? And threw out the last shirt I bought him though he totally lied about it?”

Scott frowns and mostly ignores Stiles, until he gets hit in the face with a pillow. 

“Ow.” He throws his pencil at Stiles and narrowly misses his face.

“You’re so not being helpful, dude. And shut up, you’re not hurt.”

“I don’t know, he’s your boyfriend.”

Stiles bounces around on the mattress, because that word still makes him giddy even after a whole year of it. “What did you get Allison for your one-year anniversary?”

Scott gets a dreamy look in his eyes, leaning back in his desk chair as some distant, gross memory resurfaces. “Kina Grannis tickets.”

Stiles bites back a laugh but not before Scott notices, and he puts his hands up in a surrender gesture. “Sorry, sorry, bro. You guys are just sickeningly cute.”

“Says the guy who got caught making out in the backseat of Derek’s car at the drive-in.”

“Hey, we only got caught because there was an excessive amount of preteens there for the R Patz. I told Derek to stop his stupid howling, but every time I touched his—“

“Holy crap, do not finish that sentence.”

Stiles sits up, bouncing til the mattress squeaks and pulling out his phone. “What do you think about some new undies? Or, ooh, how about whipped cream?”

“Stop, stop, please god stop before I kick you out of here.”

Stiles makes a face but gets up, because he’s got some ideas now and also is kind of sporting a half-boner and he should probably call Derek up and see what he’s doing.

“You’re such a prude,” Stiles says fondly, clapping Scott on the shoulder before waltzing out the door.

Derek’s already texted him back and included one very sexy picture of his bicep—he’s getting better at sexting, shut up—and Stiles makes a beeline for the loft.

***

Two days later is the big date night. Stiles has an hour before they’re going out for their anniversary dinner, and he starts getting ready early for once. He sweats the choice between the blue tie or no tie, deciding on the blue because Lydia had once said it looked nice with his eyes, and he has to call his dad in to help him tie the knot. 

“Don’t get all sappy now,” Stiles says, scrutinizing the way his dad’s getting all misty eyed and quiet. “Remember how much you hated Derek when we first started dating. Remember how mad you were when you caught him eating our fudgsicles from the freezer at one in the morning in just his underwear. Good. Remember that feeling.”

“Stiles…” His dad says, but it sounds more fond than irritated. He pulls him into a hug and Stiles fights for a minute before giving in and hugging back, because yeah, he remembers too. And he remembers how his dad had sat them down for The Talk and Derek had promised he would never ever break Stiles’ heart. Ever. And Stiles maybe had cried a little bit, later. In the privacy of his own room.

“Okay, you can let me go now.” Stiles pushes at his dad’s shoulder and gives him a quick grin before bounding away. “Still need to get ready.”

His dad leaves him alone and Stiles putters around on his computer for a few minutes, no closer to having a gift than he was yesterday. Derek had said he didn’t want anything, but he’d made reservations at a nice place and had told Stiles to look dressed-up but to “try not to look like he was going to a high school formal.”

Desperation makes him open a word document and begin typing in the first ridiculous things that come to mind. His phone buzzes and he ignores it, knowing that it’s Derek downstairs and he’s not ready quite yet. He hits print and madly cuts the paper into little squares, stapling them and shoving them in his pocket.

“Love you, dad,” he calls as he flies out the door, letting it slam behind him and wincing at the noise as he trots over to the Camaro. He yanks open the door to look at Derek’s shyly smiling face, unable to temper his ridiculous grin.

***

“You’re kind of like the worst person ever to buy gifts for,” Stiles says as he grinds down into Derek’s lap, their takeout containers forgotten on the end table next to them. Derek’s bent forward and nosing along his neck, his fingers loosening the knot on Stiles’ tie but not removing it. He uses it to pull Stiles closer and into a wet, dirty kiss that makes Stiles’ bones melt and his dick chub up in his pants.

“I said I didn’t want anything,” Derek says into Stiles’ lips, and Stiles lets him control the pace of their kisses for a minute before drawing back and blinking like he’s just resurfaced from being underwater.

“Wait, I think you’ll like it though…” He fishes in his pocket, pulling out the crumpled white squares and smoothing them out with his fingers before holding the packet out for Derek to take.

Derek looks confused, his beautiful features drawn into a slight frown as he takes it from Stiles. It’s still dark in the loft, the only light coming in from the long, dirty windows at the far end of the room, everything quiet and soft and still. Stiles feels self-conscious all of a sudden, like he’s just handed Derek his heart and is waiting for the verdict of yea or nay.

The slide of the paper is soft when Derek pulls it apart, and he takes his time reading each line, a small smile sliding across his face.

“There’s one for cooking, like I’ll totally make you a healthy meal. And one for an evening where I’ll be completely quiet, or well, at least for an hour, probably. And another for half an hour of rimming, because I totally want to do that to you.” Stiles flushes bright red, and he’s glad it’s so dark in the room so Derek can’t see his ridiculous cheeks and bashful smile.

It feels warmer between them, Derek shifting his knees so Stiles is thrown closer, and he has to prop his hands on Derek’s chest to stay upright. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says softly, but his tone is affectionate and Stiles tips forward to draw his lips along Derek’s neck.

“That’s why you love me,” he says with a laugh, starting to suck a bright red mark right below his ear.

“Yeah.” And Derek sounds a little breathier now, his hands tighter on Stiles. The words make Stiles’ breath catch like it does every time, and he draws Derek closer, wanting to touch him with every single part of his body, wanting to crawl inside and live there, in Derek’s scent and breath and heart.

“Hey, I got you something, too,” Derek says, prying Stiles’ octopus arms off of him. He lets go with reluctance, pouting as he’s placed on the couch next to him, wet lips cooling.

“You said no gifts, you jerk.”

Derek’s eyebrows waggle slightly which has Stiles bursting out into laughter and shutting up when Derek reaches back from the end table with a small black box with a bow on it.

“Whoa, is this like. Are things getting serious here?” Stiles never can seem to shut up, especially when he’s nervous. He let’s himself get super jittery before ripping the top off and staring down at a brass key on a plain keyring.

“I know you’re here like, every weekend anyways, but, you know.” Derek looks like he’s almost red in the face, and it’s so adorable Stiles thinks he can’t take it anymore and he might float off the couch. “You could stay the other nights, too?”

Stiles grins so hard it hurts his face, and then he bounds back over the couch cushions to straddle Derek again and kisses him like a maniac before trying to wrestle his shirt over his head with no finesse at all.

“Alright, this calls for coupon number seven: Gratuitous use of my tongue on your dick for a minimum of thirty minutes.”

“Does it actually say that?”

Stiles grabs the booklet and flips through, pointing to the print and waving it in front of Derek’s nose. He rips it out, throwing it on the ground and slides down so he’s on his knees between Derek’s spread legs. He works down the zipper slowly, licking his lips as he pulls the fat head of Derek’s cock out and pulls back on the foreskin so he can see the red tip, shiny in the low light.

“Yup. Followed by number ten: Manly bubble bath time, and then eleven: Sex in a new location. Which can be the bathtub, so, perfect!”

Stiles gets to work sucking on the head of Derek’s cock, palming the rest of his length and loving the way Derek tries so hard to keep his hips still but can’t for long. Stiles is good at this, has lots of practice, loves sucking Derek so much, loves pulling all kinds of fantastic moans and grunts from his normally reticent boyfriend. He lets Derek’s length slide heavily along his tongue, the taste of precome leaking down into his throat and then pops off, giving his jaw a break as he lazily jerks Derek and looks up at his sprawled form, parted, wet lips, and darkened eyes. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and Stiles’ breath catches because really, he doesn’t know how he got so goddamn lucky.

“Your gift was better,” Stiles says with an easy smile, and he moves to lick at the base of Derek’s dick before strong fingers catch him and drag him upward, and he finds himself pulled tight against Derek’s body.

They don’t end up using coupon number seven after all, but getting fucked over the back of the couch is definitely just as good in Stiles’ book.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
